


Sea Salt for the Wounds

by Vilna



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, Folklore & Mythology, Genderbending, Jealousy, Longing, Protectiveness, Quintessence (Voltron), Selkies, Slow Burn, referenced child death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilna/pseuds/Vilna
Summary: It's the most devastating fall in decades, when Shiro finds and rescues the half-dead creature by the shoreline.― a tale about longing for things you have lost and people you cannot have.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 52





	1. from the joy of the sea

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet, but let's face it: I'm impatient as hell. But I'm finally writing the third & last chapter of my other fem!sheith: [Can't Wait to Get Hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505167/chapters/48662135) (after like four months but shhh), I figured I might as well post this first chapter, because it's been pretty much ready since October.
> 
> I don't think I've ever been this excited about a project of mine! Because this one actually has a plot, one I've actually properly worked on!! I didn't put the number of chapters yet, but it's going to be abt 4-5 chapters long, I think, if I don't get too distracted, lmao. I expect the other chapters are going to be slightly longer than this first one, we'll see!
> 
> My ambitious goal is to post a new chapter after every two weeks but honestly? I'm just as happy if I'll get this finished before summer. :')
> 
> kudos & comments are: ♥

By October the sea is an artic ocean, grey and unstoppable, cool enough for a quick swim but any longer than seven minutes would be treacherous this time of year. The waves will easily slam a man against the underwater stones, breaking an arm, splitting a skull open. The blood won’t ever find the shore.

Two falls past, the village blacksmith’s nine-year-old son drowned that way. The funeral was the saddest one for years to come. Shiro knew the family well, back then and still does, in fact. They’re good and honest people. The smith’s wife still bakes Shiro warm bread for every Sunday when Shiro drops by to help her husband in the forge. Even if her smile is only a shadow of what it was, the beauty of it long gone. Their younger son turns four in a few days, Shiro carved him a wooden toy as a present. A small seal pup.

Shiro’s smile is serious as she watches the sea that has buried many. She is always careful when she explores its depths. She knows to watch for the tides and temperature and weather. Shiro has learned how not to drown. To fight, to survive.

A heavy sigh escapes her chapped lips when she licks the dry salt away with her tongue and looks at the rising horizon. The wool of her shirt doesn’t do much to keep her warm, neither does the beanie hiding her uneven haircut. The fishing rod has stayed immobile for two hours now so she’s just wasting the early hours of the morning, at this point. She’s trying not to think about her warm cottage for it’s lonely as well as cozy.

The rock is slippery beneath her boots when she rises up and starts gathering her things. The thought of going home unsettles her. She tightens the straws of her backpack and drinks the last of her tea from the thermostat. Her arm aches, it always does when the weather is cold, the belt strapping the wood onto her arm is too tight.

She gazes at the ocean once more, readying herself for going back home, when her eye catches something down by the beach below her. Or _someone_ , rather.

Shiro hurries her way down from the cliff, shoes slipping and backpack slapping against her jumper, fish rod dropping from her hand more than once. Her steps turn to full on running when she reaches the sand.

What she sees, is a girl.

A completely naked girl, face down on the sand. She’s deadly pale, white even, and the bumps of her spine show up too strongly through her translucent skin. The long, black hair is covered in strips of green seaweed and the sand clinging to her wet body.

At first, Shiro thinks she’s dead. A victim of the cruel, merciless ocean that surrounds this coast. She wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last.

”Christ,” she says and kneels down next to the girl, and resists the urge to vomit. Shiro turns her body over gently and sees that her lips are blue and eyes closed. She has a fresh scar on her right cheek and purple bruises along her chest and arms. Shiro touches the girl’s skinny wrist and checks her pulse like she was taught to – like she has done so many times in the past.

And it’s there. Barely, maybe, but this girl is still alive.

Shiro covers the figure with a moth-eaten blanket she finds laying around at the bottom of her pack, picks her up gently and takes her home.

*

Shiro lays down the still unconscious girl on her own bed and wraps her snugly into three quilts. She lights up the fireplace to warm her cool cabin into a more habitable home. For a moment she just looks at her sleeping quest. She seems young, maybe under 20 years old, but there’s something about her that makes Shiro believe the girl is not what she seems – she’s impossibly beautiful, in a way no one else won’t ever be. It’s unreal, almost not human. She’s like some sort of goddess.

Shiro turns her gaze away, the skin over her cheekbones damasty pink, embarrassed of her own thoughts. She busies herself by putting the radiators on maximum heat and she’s quickly getting a little hot under her layers of clothing. She takes off her itchy knitted sweater and winter boots, the floor board is a little warmer under her socked feet as she continues her usual morning routines.

She starts by making breakfast; the last of the bread blacksmith’s wife gave her, some salty porridge and boiling water she makes her coffee with. More than enough for two.

*

She wakes up slowly after midday, confused and still naked as Shiro definitely didn’t dress her before putting her to bed. Shiro watches her from the kitchen chair by the table, out of reach just in case. One can never know what to expect from desperate men or women.

The girl seems confused about her whereabouts, looking around with a panicked expression after seeing the foreign walls surrounding her. It’s like she hasn’t seen anything like this before. She breathes in sharply when her gaze fall on Shiro.

”Where am I?” she asks with a breathy voice, sounding like she hasn’t used it in ages.

Shiro stands up and hesitantly makes her way to the girl and sits down on the edge of the bed. ”My name is Takashi Shirogane,” she says quietly, ”and you’re in my home.”

The girl swallows, looking haunted. She shivers under the blankets Shiro buried her in.

”Why am I in your home, Takashi Shirogane?” she finally asks, voice scratchy. She has an accent Shiro can’t place.

”I found you frozen and wet by the sea at the nearby beach,” Shiro says, trying to sound soothing, ”you were barely alive so I brought you here. You didn’t have any other injuries, except for a few cuts and scrapes. You’ve been asleep since then.”

The girl’s eyes flash with anger. No, _fury_. ”Do you have it then?” she spits out, clearly ready to lunge for Shiro’s throat. It’s a desperate sort of madness, the kind you often see in animals and hunger stricken people.

Shiro remains calm but it’s a stretch.

”… have what?” she asks, genuinely curious. She had nothing on, not even any type of clothing.

The girl Shiro found naked along the shoreline says, ”My skin.”

*

Keith is her name, she tells reluctantly once she wakes up for the second time later during the day. 

She doesn’t tell any other details about herself but when Shiro offers her porridge for food, she makes a disgusted looking face and demands to have fish instead. She dresses herself on Shiro’s old clothes that are giant on her, the wool shirt reaches mid thigh and doesn’t even cover her sharp collarbones, her naked, pale skin luminous under it. She refuses to wear underwear after she tries them on and declares them too _restricting_.

Her steps don’t hold, like she hasn’t used her feet in years, and Shiro has to catch her from the arms a few times as she stumbles around the cabin, opening drawers and cabinets, seemingly searching for something,

Shiro’s curious about this creature – as it’s obvious now that her house guest is not human, at least not fully. Her inhuman, ethereal beauty is now explainable.

For it is not out of this world.

*

Finally by nightfall Keith is calm enough to sit down on the ragged rug by the fireplace, drinking some chamomile tea Shiro made for her after she complained about a sore throat. Keith stares at the dancing orange flames, while leaning sideways, her legs in a straight line. They’re covered with purple and blue bruises and they seem to ache as Keith keeps stroking her palm against them, seemingly trying to soothe the pain away.

She hasn’t spoken anything aloud since that morning despite Shiro’s attempts at conversation. A type of shock, possibly. Shiro is endlessly curious about her new visitor but for now she’s kept her questions to herself.

Shiro settles down on her grandmother’s old rocking chair next to Keith who has kept ignoring her after Shiro tried her best to explain that she didn’t steal Keith’s _skin_ and didn’t even know what she was talking about.

Shiro drinks her own lukewarm herbal tea, trying to keep her curiosity from voicing itself. She keeps looking at Keith, though, stealing glances from the edge of her eye corner. She’s certain Keith notices but she hasn’t commented on it yet, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Shiro doesn’t want to push.

Once the grandfather clock ticks to midnight, Shiro is ready for sleep.

”It’s late,” Shiro says quietly and gets up, the chair creaking under the lost weight. ”I think it’s time for bed.”

She receives no answer. Keith doesn’t even look at her, it’s as if the flames have captivated her.

”Keith.”

Shiro touches lightly her shoulder. She’s surprised when Keith doesn’t immediately shy away from her touch even though she’s still clearly confused and afraid of her surroundings. Her shoulder is tight like an arrow under Shiro’s palm.

”I live alone so I only have one bed, unfortunately,” Shiro says despite not getting any sort of reaction. ”It’s comfortable enough, you can sleep in it like you did before. I’ll take the couch.”

The decades old sofa is way too short for Shiro’s height but she figures that her guest takes priority. She can’t even imagine what Keith’s been through, the thought of her suffering haunts her. Shiro will never forget the sight of Keith’s washed up body at the beach. She was so certain she would have to witness yet another death.

Shiro rinses out her tea mug in the sink before digging out an old blanket and a pillow from a trunk next to the bookshelf. Keith hasn’t moved from away from the fireplace and she’s still massaging her calf with a grimace.

”Do you want something for your legs?” Shiro asks quietly and Keith flinches at the sound of her voice. Shiro bites her lower lip and tries not to feel too guilty, she saved Keith after all. Even if Keith doesn’t seem to be grateful about it.

When Keith turns to look at Shiro, her beautiful violet eyes are shining in the firelight.

”Are you alright?” Shiro asks as gently as she can. Keith stares at her, voice mute and lips unmoving. Shiro doesn’t press and eventually Keith nods.

”Okay,” she whispers when Keith turns her back once more, ”let me know if you need anything,” she continues, truly meaning it. 

Shiro takes off her wooden looking arm prosthetic and winces a little at the pain of wearing it for too long. She opens a jar of self-made ointment and rubs it on the stump. It usually helps with the ache but today the cold weather has made it too stiff so it doesn’t do much.

Shiro sighs when she lays down on the sofa and pulls the covers on top of her body. Before closing her eyes, she glances at Keith and is taken back how Keith is looking at her curiously under her bangs, eyes vivid and almost glowing in the dark.

She really is beautiful, Shiro thinks, a little amazed, before turning on her back and pulling the blanket to her chin. She closes her eyes.

”Good night, Keith,” she murmurs and isn’t sure if she just imagines Keith whispering the words back to her, when she falls asleep.

*

In the morning Shiro wakes up minutes after sunrise.

The cottage is silent, calm and warm and it takes a moment for Shiro to remember she’s not alone. She pushes herself up with her lonely hand and checks the other side of the room and – yes, there she still is. Keith’s sleeping figure.

Part of Shiro thought she would be long gone now, but Keith has clearly decided to stay as she’s still sleeping in Shiro’s bed. She smells of salt water and wind, something that doesn’t belong to this world. Shiro bites her lip and watches how Keith’s chest widens with every breath she takes, proof that she’s still living even though her face is still pale as moonlight. The mark on her cheek is now red and angry. Shiro might have a salve that could help to prevent future scarring.

Shiro scratches her neck, face flushing in the dark. She’s reminded about her outgrown hair she usually keeps short for practical purposes, she ought to cut it soon. She usually styles it herself with kitchen scissors and the work is sloppy and uneven. But who really cares about things like hair when there’s bigger things to be worrying about.

Shiro gets up from the sofa, the protest of her aching back making her blink in the morning light. She tries to be as quiet as she can as she gets dressed and starts preparing a simple breakfast, two sliced apples and porridge made in water, enough for two people. She heats up a few slices of fish pie she made last week as well -- Keith must be hungry for she hasn’t eaten since Shiro brought her home.

She drinks her morning coffee outside, sitting on the porch stairs and watching the morning fold in front of her. The cold air chips her cheeks and makes her breath puff into steam. She notices that her favourite wool sweater’s other cuff has begun to fray, she should fix that, as well. 

The world is quiet and Shiro breathes.

The silence is broken off by the front door’s moaning and the hesitant steps on the creaking wood. Shiro can smell the sea before Keith talks.

”You do not have it, do you,” she says cryptically. She pauses but doesn’t seem to wait for a reply. ”What you told was true,” Keith continues sounding suspicious despite her words.

Shiro turns to look at her over her shoulder. Keith shivers in the wind, only wearing the same shirt Shiro gave her yesterday and nothing else. Shiro feels cold for her behalf.

Shiro doesn’t say anything but Keith is brave enough to continue anyway. ”You did not bring me here for imprisonment.”

Shiro blinks, expression probably laughable as well as confused. ”Of course I didn’t,” she answers, picking on her dry cuticles, ”what gave you that idea?”

Keith bites her lip but her voice grows more firm as she says, ”It is what your kind do, is it not?”

Shiro’s answer is empty so Keith frowns at her, seemingly confused herself. ”Your men capture us selkies and bleed us dry out of quintessence for your own personal gain and power. Do you not know this?”

Shiro blinks again. ”I’m sorry – what?” she says moronically, confused to her very bones, heart hammering like an earthquake.

By now Keith is visibly irritated, clearly thinking Shiro is the stupidest person she’s ever met. She sighs deeply and brings a palm to her face. For the first time Shiro notices that she has webbed, transparent fingers. The nails are longer than humans have, too.

”Do you not know what I am?” Keith asks.

”No,” Shiro says breathlessly, completely captivated by her. She is magic.

Keith sighs in frustration. ”I am a selkie,” she says and wrinkles her nose.

*

Shiro knows about selkies. Everyone on the island knows their stories by this point.

She knows about selkies who live in the sea and don’t interact with humans as they are known to be cruel and vile to them. Men take their skins and make the females their wives, bare children even, the selkie women trapped on dry land, forever longing for sea, for their home.

Shiro has heard those tales, everyone has at this point. This island has a history and stories to go with it. She has lived here her whole life and it was one of the first legends she heard. She didn’t believe it, of course, possibly no one actually does.

But here is one in the flesh. A selkie. In Shiro’s own little house.

It’s remarkable.

*

The very next day, Keith is still there, in Shiro’s home, remaining a curious house guest that Shiro doesn’t know much about.

After Shiro wakes up as early as ever, Keith is already waiting. She immediately demands to see the ocean as she’s afraid it won’t be there anymore. Shiro agrees.

Keith’s a stumbling foal as she makes her way down the hill where Shiro’s cottage lies, almost rushing her way to the sea – to her home, Shiro thinks. It’s not a far way, thankfully, but the small path is rocky and untamed. Keith is wearing Shiro’s dad’s old fishing boots, way too big on her delicate legs; she stumbles but refuses to slow down.

Keith is desperate and falls down twice on the path, unable to get up on her own, so Shiro helps her up both times, rough hands gentle against Keith’s scaly ones. Her touch is cold and skin a little sticky, in the same way as really salty sea water sometimes leaves it after a swim. Keith, surprisingly, allows the touch, just for a second. Shiro can’t but feel a little awed about it. Part of her is childishly excited about Keith, she has never met anyone like her. _Obviously._ But Shiro’s always been curious about the things that don’t belong to her world, to this reality, even. And Keith -- Keith obviously belongs neither of them.

When they reach the beach, it is impossibly quiet. Not even the wind makes her presence known. Keith seems speechless, she stares at the solem waves’ slow sliding movement. A sea gull saunters on the shoreline, another one flies above the sea, looking for prey from the clueless fish.

Keith takes slow steps towards her home. She doesn’t spare a look for Shiro, but Shiro stays close just in case she falls down again. Keith probably doesn’t appreciate it much, but she doesn’t say anything either. When Keith reaches water she stops and kneels down.

She dips her webbed fingers into the sea and flows her hand in it, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Keith hasn’t talked much about her heritage after the confession, she’s quiet about the seal that lives inside of her. Shiro supposes it’s because of caution, after all only yesterday Keith thought Shiro had stolen her skin. Shiro has always believed in letting creatures of the sea alone. It is a lesson she learned the hard way.

The phantom of Shiro’s arm, aches at a reminder and she rubs it unconsciously. She knows better now. Do not trust the waves even if you know how to swim, her grandpa used to say. She didn’t know what it meant before it was too late and she lost her right arm.

Shiro shakes her head to get rid of her unpleasant thoughts and focuses on Keith again. She’s now wading in the sea deeper and deeper as if determinant to prove something.

”Keith,” Shiro says, alarmed. Keith ignores her but eventually stops walking and stays where she is.

The water reaches her waist and both of them are still and quiet.

And then Keith cries out a yell, high and loud. It’s angry and mournful at the same time. It makes Shiro feel cold.

The sea keeps breathing, ignoring its own people who begs to come home.

*

Shiro takes Keith back home and dries her off with a soft towel, spending time perhaps a bit more than necessary. Keith doesn’t say anything as Shiro hands her her own old and worn night robe to wear. It’s so big on Keith’s lean and small figure, it hangs on her awkwardly, pooling in the floor beneath her feet, sleeves literally twice too long. Shiro hands her another towel for her damp hair and Keith murmurs her thanks, holding Shiro’s gaze longer than ever before. Her mouth corners rise into a tiny smile and Shiro busies herself making tea.

When a few moments have passed, Shiro gets the courage to to open her mouth for questions.

”Do you know who could have taken it?” she asks as she offers a cup of rosemary tea to Keith, who looks unimpressed as she meets Shiro’s tentative gaze.

Keith shakes her head, clearly trying to bite out an amused smile. ”If I knew, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”

Shiro nods with an air of seriousness. ”Point taken,” she says and sips her tea and immediately cringing as it’s scalding hot, burning her tongue and throat.

Keith drinks her own with large gulps without flinching with Shiro staring in slight horror. Keith is wondrous in… many ways, no, in _all_ ways. She’s strange and the unknown itself, Shiro is endlessly curious about her and her species. She has trouble believing something like Keith could even _exist._

”I suspect I’m not the only selkie trapped in dry land and in this particular island,” Keith says suddenly, making Shiro startle, ”there has been several disappearances among my clan for over 120 years along this coast,” Keith continues, eyes flickering like field of wheat in fire as she holds Shiro’s gaze, ”Two females were lost in the last five months.”

”That’s horrible,” Shiro says. ”Are there a lot like you then?” She can’t help but ask for any scrap of information Keith will give to her.

Keith shakes her head, looking troubled. ”Not anymore. A few hundred at most among all clans. We’ve been hunted mercilessly to near annihilation.”

”I’m sorry,” Shiro says and that apology is the most honest thing she’s ever said.

”It is what it is,” Keith says, but there is deep sorrow in her violet eyes, ”We selkies have large amounts of quintessence in us,” Keith explains, voice rising, heating up, ”and your men _hunger_ for it. That is the reason there’s so few of us left.”

Shiro frowns. ”What is quintessence exactly?” she asks. The word sounds vaguely familiar but she can’t place its meaning.

The collar of the robe has slithered down from Keith’s shoulder to her upper arm, exposing her creamwhite skin and breast, without her even noticing. Shiro finds herself staring at her own feet.

Keith huffs. ”It is the purest form of energy, so powerful it has a life of its own. It is out of your world, out of this universe. It is difficult to explain. Even us seal folk are not entirely sure of its purpose in us but we do know that it gives us an unnaturally long lifespan in your human years. I do not think we could exist without it.”

Shiro sips her tea, trying to take in all this information without making herself even more confused. Keith mirrors the gesture after awhile but makes a face after tasting it, putting it back on the table.

After a minutes long pause, Shiro opens her mouth again, ”What about the myths of human men and their selkie wives?”

Keith’s forehead crinkles. ”That is only a small part of it. It is true that it happens – some humans ’rescue’ us when we come to shore to shed our skin every seven years. They take those of us female to their homes and make us little more than pets.”

”That’s awful,” Shiro says, brows pinched together, ”why don’t they escape?”

”The men always take and hide their seal skin from them. We cannot return to the sea without it, as you already know. There are some who are able to find their skin and return home in the end,” Keith assures at Shiro’s horrified expression. ”Some men grow remorse and give it back, believing that she will return to him in the end but the selkie never does,” Keith continues. Her voice is soft with tragedy and Shiro can’t look away.

Keith sighs deeply. ”And then – then there’s the selkie-wives who fall deeply in love with their husbands and bare their children willingly, trying desperately to build another home and get over their longing for their nature. They remain with their family for years, sometimes decades, but even they won’t stay forever. The call of the sea is too strong. We will never be truly happy without it.”

Oh.

Shiro bites her lower lip. ”I’m sorry,” she says again, this time more quietly and regretful. She feels the guilt all the way to her bones. She hasn’t done these things Keith speaks off, but somehow she still feels responsible for other human’s deeds.

Keih inhales shakily. ”Takashi,” she says. Shiro’s given name sounds different in her mouth.

”You have to help me,” Keith says, ”I can’t do it on my own.”

Shiro blinks.

”Help me get my skin back,” Keith says. She’s visibly agitated, hands shaking and throat gulping for air. “Please,” she begs, taking a few trembling steps towards Shiro. 

She touches Shiro’s cheek with her palm. ”I don’t belong here,” she whispers, “I want to go _home_.”

Keith’s eyes are misery in its true form and Shiro feels absolutely horrible for her. She doesn’t consider the island her true home but she knows that if she was forced to leave, she would miss her little hut she’s made habitable over the years. She would miss the village as well, the people, the blacksmith’s family, all of them.

Shiro swallows twice. ”Keith,” she says gently, covering Keith’s hand with her own, ”of course I will help you. You don’t even need to ask.”

Keith’s answering smile is made out of ocean and bone-deep sorrow.


	2. to the misery of the land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you tired?” Shiro asks after they have walked for a little over twenty minutes. It’s all downhill to the village, but Keith is falling behind despite their slow rhythm, stumbling on the little stones on the road. The terrain is quite difficult, more so for Keith who has never even walked this long nonstop. “Do you want to take a break?”
> 
> “Do not be ridiculous,” Keith says quickly, just as Shiro expected, voice muffled under the scarf. “I am fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! This fic is not dead. :')
> 
> I think we can safely assume I've failed my "two week schedule" as was my original plan, hehe. I did want to continue writing this waaay earlier, because I'm still so flipping excited about this fic and I love it so much!! but my writing is emotion driven rather than a routine so my inspiration changes all the time. Some days I don't write at all and sometimes I write & edit a 6k fic in only a few days. The 6k fic being the 2nd chapter I'm posting right now!
> 
> I really hope this chapter isn't boring, because that's been one of my biggest fears lately. I hope you enjoy despite the long wait. ♥
> 
> ( **tw:** for mentioned child death & drowning)

The next couple of days with Keith are surprisingly similar to the time Shiro’s life was before.

They haven’t talked with each other much. Shiro is used to silence and loneliness so she doesn’t particularly mind that Keith dwells in her own thoughts and keeps to herself, mostly sleeping the last two days away. The only time Shiro really sees other people is when she hikes down to the village a few times a week to trade for food and sell the fish she catches. 

It’s Friday today, so there’s two more days till the market. Keith already agreed to go with Shiro and they will try to head there at sunrise to meet people and try to _subtly_ inquire them about a missing seal skin like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Shiro can already imagine how well it will go as she knows how far the endless curiosity and intrusiveness of the villagers can go.

In the meantime, Shiro can feel Keith’s longing settling down and making Shiro’s hut its own, giving no place for anything else. Shiro can feel the selkie’s sorrow everytime she steps inside. 

She feels miserable for Keith who is seasick in a way a sailor could never be.

*

Shiro scratches her neck that tickles under the unusual sunshine that peeks through the pure white, fluffy clouds that are somehow always present. It’s a surprisingly warm morning so she’s not wearing her usual heavy clothing, just a pale blue cotton shirt and slacks as she chops firewood with her inherited axe that’s seen better days, to be honest.

She knows the weather can be quite treacherous this time of year, as it’s always calm before the storm, but a bigger part of her wants to enjoy these sort of days. They’ve become more and more rare as time has passed. Soon it will be winter again. Just the thought of it is harmful enough to give Shiro goosebumps. She’s definitely not waiting for the snow and frost to bury the island again for five long months.

She chops a few more blocks before pausing as her missing arm begins to ache again. She grimaces. The pain is unusually bad. Stupid fucking thing. She takes off her sweat slicked shirt to adjust the leather strap binding the wooden prosthesis to her flesh, her teeth caving deep into her lower lip from pain.

“Shit,” Shiro hisses as she finally removes it entirely, her mouth wet with blood for having bitten so hard. She resists the urge to throw the prosthesis down a cliff and just drops it down on the ground, swallowing down her bitterness.

Shiro doesn’t notice her audience till she looks up to the porch and sees Keith watching her intently, eyes sharp as she observes Shiro. She’s wearing Shiro’s old robe again and her long hair is wet, clinging onto her skin. Keith must have taken a bath.

“Morning,” Shiro calls out with an awkward wave of her left hand. She wipes her red mouth into her abandoned shirt and realises too late that she will never get the blood off it. Damn.

Keith is frowning down at her, lips pursed into a thin line as she seemingly takes in Shiro’s fractured state.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro says quickly. “It’s fine.”

Keith is quiet but the judgement is clear on her face. But in the end she only says, “If you are certain.”

After those words she disappears back inside the hut, the front door pointedly slamming shut behind her. A thing Shiro has learned about Keith is that she always needs to have the final word, no matter the importance of the conversation.

Shiro finds it rather interesting. Keith is interesting and not only because of the obvious. 

Some day, Shiro hopes that she will know Keith better than Shiro knows herself.

*

Shiro is idly whitling a block of wood, not exactly knowing what she wants to make of it, when the question lands,

“How did you lose your arm?”

There it is.

Keith has willingly started a conversation with Shiro only a handful of times, but Shiro has been waiting for this from the second she saw Keith’s gaze lingering on her wooden prosthesis for the first time. But she didn’t actually think Keith would be curious enough to ask. Or even care, for that matter. She is really focused on her goal to return to the ocean and seems to think Shiro as a necessary evil to get there. 

Shiro sighs and stops what she’s doing to look at Keith, who is sitting on the bed, holding one of Shiro’s oldest poetry books. Its spine is cracked and pages are yellow from age, but Shiro does love it. Keith doesn’t seem to be reading it, however, she's just tracing the pages and letters with her fingertips like blind men do. Keith might not even know how to read. 

“It’s a long story,” Shiro says and it’s true. A very long, exhausting story, actually, and she doesn’t like to think about the ugliness of it too much. 

Keith hums under her breath, a strange sort of noise, that no human could ever duplicate. It makes Shiro shiver, but not in the way coldness does.

Keith is special. Shiro has catched her thinking about it too many times already and she's only been here for under a week. But then again, Shiro has always been intrigued by the unknown.

“It often is,” Keith murmurs -- so quietly Shiro can barely hear her. But her words are only a suggestion and she doesn’t seem to expect Shiro to truly indulge her. 

Shiro finds herself thinking about telling it to Keith. Even the thought hurts, for a lack of better word, her. Keith doesn’t seem to hold her in high regard and Shiro can only imagine how she would react if she knew Shiro’s deepest secrets. Perhaps Keith wouldn’t judge her, but the risk just isn’t worth it.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Shiro says, trying to sound as apologetic as she feels. Keith doesn’t answer her immediately, just spends some time looking at Shiro in consideration. She’s quite beautiful and sometimes Shiro is astonished by her own stupidity

“As you wish,” Keith says after a minute or two, before turning a new page of her book and releasing Shiro’s gaze. She frowns at then no doubt unfamiliar words, but seems stubborn enough to try make sense out of them.

Shiro feels a pang of guilt. Keith did, after all, trust Shiro with her own mysteries. “Maybe some other time,” she says and actually finds herself meaning it.

*

Keith is already awake by the time Shiro’s alarm clock goes off at four on Monday morning. It’s an old, noisy thing and Shiro sees Keith startle where she’s sitting on the kitchen table, eating a half-ripe apple while toying with the wooden seal pup Shiro made for the blacksmith’s son’s birthday. Her feet are moving in the air in a slow, perfect rhythm.

It brings strange, soft light into the dark space under Shiro's ribs.

“Sorry,” Shiro rasps before she gets too distracted and gropes around to find the damned thing before one of them becomes deaf from the ungodly noise.

Keith looks at Shiro mildly interested as she fumbles with the clock to get it to quiet down. Then Shiro hears a laugh, a beautiful and absolutely inhumane sound, the prettiest thing Shiro has ever found. She almost gasps aloud before catching herself, but Keith looks at her like she knows everything Shiro’s thinking at this moment.

There’s definitely a flush on Shiro’s cheeks as she’s finally able to rise up from the couch and try to find some clothing to put on. She's only wearing shorts and a clumsily tied shirt so she really needs to put on something more proper.

It’s market day and they need to get going before the sunrise to get there in time. Shiro has nothing to sell today, but she has enough savings to get them through the week without much difficulty. She’s mostly self-sufficient, anyway. She has a small garden shed full of nicely growing vegetables and a few kinds of berries with the aid of heating lamps. Shiro’s particularly excited about using the plump pumpkin she’s been saving for a while now.

Shiro can feel Keith watching her, but tries to pay it no mind, as she buttons up her sweater and finds clean socks from the drawer. She needs to find some clothing for Keith to wear, too.

“It’s an hour and half hike down to the village,” Shiro says as she rummages through the dresser. “Are you up for it?”

“Yes,” Keith answers, but Shiro thinks that’s a little optimistic. Keith hasn’t had many chances to stretch her legs yet, never mind over four miles. It will take them significantly longer to get there than it would if Shiro went alone, and that’s not happening because Keith denied it even before the thought left Shiro’s mind. This is why they need to be up with the sun if they want to be there in rush hour when there’s more people to get answers from.

“You sure?” Shiro asks as she tosses Keith a pair of hopefully comfortable trousers and the tiniest shirt she owns, along with socks and her warmest fox fur cap. It has been the coldest fall in years.

“Of course,” Keith says, oblivious to Shiro’s whole meaning, and Shiro has to hide her grin into her fist. She’s lucky that Keith is distracted enough with the clothes Shiro gave her or she would certainly be more than annoyed.

Shiro tries to look away when Keith lets the robe slither down her body and starts dressing herself, but:

“Wait,” Shiro says, “you need underwear, too.”

Keith crosses her arms which thankfully covers her chest. “I hate them,” she says.

“I know you do,” Shiro replies, looking at her feet, “but it’ll be uncomfortable for you to --”

“Fine,” Keith sighs with a long breath. When Shiro peeks a glance at her, she’s only wearing the fur cap and nothing else. “But I do not want to wear a ‘brassiere’.”

Shiro’s laugh is happier than in months.

*

They leave once the sun starts licking at the horizon, Keith clumsy in her borrowed shoes with Shiro hovering close by in case she falls. Keith doesn’t say anything about it, but Shiro can sense she’s frustrated with Shiro as well as herself, clearly annoyed by their sluggish pace.

It’s a very chilly morning, their breaths are visible in the air and Keith’s nose is red, peeking under the wool scarf Shiro gave her. It’s rather endearing -- how she’s clothed from head to toe with the warmest clothes Shiro owns, but Shiro would neve dare to say it to her face.

Keith is… captivating, to say the least and it makes Shiro sigh in defeat. Her thoughts are very ill-placed and, to be frank, inappropriate. Keith glances at her in silence. Her eyes are like sea fog, pretty but perilous. She doesn’t say anything, she rarely does, but sometimes Shiro feels like Keith can read the thoughts in Shiro’s mind which is more than a little frightening.

Shiro’s rucksack is lighter than usual today as she has nothing to sell or trade for. Their main goal is to find something more precious: information.

*

“Are you tired?” Shiro asks after they have walked for a little over twenty minutes. It’s all downhill to the village, but Keith is falling behind despite their slow rhythm, stumbling on the little stones on the road. The terrain is quite difficult, more so for Keith who has never even walked this long nonstop. “Do you want to take a break?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Keith says quickly, just as Shiro expected, voice muffled under the scarf. “I am fine.”

Shiro suppresses a smile. “Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

*

“Takashi,” Keith says only five minutes later. “I have changed my mind.”

“Sure,” Shiro says kindly, “let’s stop for a minute or two.”

Keith sits down on a rock by the edge of the road and takes off her boots to rub on her socked ankles. Her expression has pain in it. “My feet ache,” she says, finally admitting what they’ve both known for a while.

“Let me see,” Shiro requests gently and after a moment Keith nods. Shiro carefully pulls off the wool sock from one of the feet and sees that it’s bruised blue and purple again, like when she first found Keith. The other one looks the same.

“Is it bad?” Keith asks. Her tone is quiet, like she’s afraid of hearing the answer. Shiro gently presses a thumb into one of the marks and Keith gasps. In pain or surprise, Shiro can’t tell. She often can’t with Keith.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs, apologetic. She puts the socks back on and purses her lips. “Maybe we should turn back.”

 _”No”,_ Keith says. The word is vicious enough to make Shiro flinch. “This might be my only chance and I am not going to let it be wasted.”

“You can’t walk all the way down to the village like this,” Shiro says and she’s aware her voice is harsher than she intended. 

“So find a solution,” Keith counters and crosses her arms. The insistence is almost petulant.

Shiro sighs, scratching an itching part on her undercut hair.

“You’re not going to like it,” she says finally. Keith lifts her left eyebrow, impatient. “I might have to carry you,” Shiro tells her and almost closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Keith’s face for surely it would only make Shiro feel worse about all of this.

Keith doesn’t say anything at first, though. She seems to consider Shiro’s words carefully. Then: “What about your arm?”

The thing is, it’s not aching right now. It’s cold, yes, and that is a trigger that usually makes it hurt the most, but their walk, however slow, has kept Shiro’s body and muscles warm. She’s been without pain ever since they left the cabin.

“It’s fine,” Shiro says with a wave of her hand. “It’s been through worse.”

Keith bites down deep into her lower lip, seemingly wanting to say something -- something important even, but ends up only shrugging as if she doesn’t care, either way. Shiro is not sure if Keith has any other feelings left in her other than longing and sorrow.

“Let us go then.”

Shiro takes off her rucksack and places it against her chest instead, and Keith stands up on the rock she was sitting on and carefully climbs onto Shiro’s back. She’s light in weight even with her heavy clothing and Shiro has no trouble holding her as they continue their journey with a faster pace than before.

Keith’s arms are curled around Shiro’s neck and her breathing is warm against Shiro’s nape. If moonlight and sea were united, it would surely smell like Keith, Shiro thinks foolishly.

These kinds of things make Shiro distracted; they make her hot underneath her clothes. She clears her strangled throat a few times, thinking whether she should say something to clear the air, but Keith doesn’t seem too uncomfortable, so Shiro stills her mouth from rambling.

She does, however, have a question needing an answer. “Do you mind if we drop by the blacksmith while we’re down there? I try to visit them as often as I can and their little boy just turned four years old.”

Keith is as quiet as the snowfall that will soon cover the island. “I suppose not,” she says, her voice too close to Shiro’s ear. Her chin is resting on Shiro’s shoulder, close to her neck. Her breaths come out in waves.

“Thank you,” Shiro answers, trying to hide its hoarseness. She can barely feel Keith’s tiny, accepting nod.

Shiro’s oncoming flush cannot be blamed entirely on the chilly weather.

The road down to the village seems to keep on forever.

*

The village is rather small but the town square seems to be full of people today.

Mondays are a busy day for many and it’s mostly because of the market. The hour is still rather early, but most of the produce sellers have already set up their wares and probably been here for a couple of hours already. There’s idle chatter and gossip among the buyers as they browse through the different stalls, encouraging yelling from the vendors and small children’s laughter as they run amongst the adults, chasing each other. A dog is barking and the smell of freshly baked goods are filling the air with their mouth-watering scent.

Keith looks around with completely wide eyes as they step into the crowd. She insisted on walking on her own as they arrived, but she’s still clinging to Shiro’s arm for support. She’s amazed and her eyes are shining with delight as she takes in the scene around them. This is the first time Keith has ever seen something like this -- something that is so common for Shiro and most people in the island. 

Yet, she doesn't seem to be nervous or afraid like Shiro thought she might be.

It makes Shiro smile.

*

_Takashi,_ Keith laughs when she sees a stray cat grooming itself.

 _Takashi,_ she gasps when the bell tower’s booming sound chimes over the noise of the people.

 _Shiro,_ she sighs when she finds golden jewellery beautified by smaragds in one of the stalls.

Shiro can’t quite name the feeling her poor heart is quickly making its own.

*

Keith is an eager customer: she spends time in each stall, watching and wondering about the world. She seems to fall in love with one of the dream catchers a stoic older man sells, fingering its feathers and gems with a fascinated look in her eyes. Shiro thinks it’s a beautiful piece, too, handmade and unique, dove white in color with adorning intact seashells.

So, she buys it with a sudden feel of inspiration, despite its expensive cost, making Keith happy enough to glimmer within. She gives Shiro only a very brief smile, but it makes Shiro ridiculously happy, anyway.

“Have a good day, young lady,” the vendor says, tipping his hat. He looks positively charmed and quite frankly, Shiro can’t blame him. It’s not like _she’s_ immune to Keith’s ethereal beauty.

“Thank you, Shiro,” Keith says later. She’s smiling and holding the paperback shielding the dream catcher close to her chest. This might be the first time Shiro has ever seen her express joy. “I will treasure it.”

“You’re welcome,” Shiro chuckles and rubs the back of her neck, a little embarrassed.

“But we should get back to what we came here for, do you not think so?” Keith reminds Shiro -- or possibly both of them -- quietly. Shiro can't read the look on her face. It's new.

“Of course,” Shiro replies. Just for a moment she forgot all about the real reason they are here. Her concentration is very unpredictable today.

The previous unknown look in Keith’s eyes turns into a sharper one. She's determined. “Where should we begin?” she asks, looking around the crowd. She squints at the surrounding people one at a time like she would recognise someone who knows how to help her.

“I think for now our best bet is Allura,” Shiro says after quick thinking. Yes, she is the best option they have by far.

Keith glances at her with a thoughtful expression. She has taken off her fur cap because the weather has grown slightly warmer as the morning progressed into noon. Her hair is a mess of curls falling along her chest. “Who is she?”

“She’s a wife of one of the farmers who comes here to the market to sell dairy,” Shiro tells her. “She’s really smart and knowledgeable on these kinds of things. I’m sure she can help us in some way, at least.”

Shiro likes Allura. She is very kind and understanding, has a beautiful soul that touches many. Half of the villagers seem to think she’s some sort of prophet, actually, even if she has never claimed such a thing. 

All Shiro knows is that she has been through a lot and learned from it -- though, she has never specified how or why. Lance is unusually protective of her, but Shiro would call Allura a friend if asked.

“And you think I can trust her?” Keith asks. She doesn’t seem overly suspicious, but very careful. Then, without waiting for an answer, “Do you?”

“I do,” Shiro says without a pause and it's the truth. “She won’t say anything about you and I’m sure she’s able to control her husband’s gossiping -- if she will even choose to tell him. Allura can be discreet, that I’m able to promise you.”

“Good,” Keith says, apparently satisfied with Shiro’s answer. “I do hope this is not a waste of time.”

“Come on,” Shiro says and touches Keith’s shoulder lightly. Keith doesn’t flinch. “She’s usually somewhere around the church.”

*

They find Allura tending one of the stands near the Grand Stairs of the local church (that Shiro has never actually even visited) with a patient smile on her face as she helps an elderly woman to choose between cow and goat milk. There’s a small line behind the lady as she keeps changing her mind over and over again. 

Someone sighs. Another one groans. Around them, a few random admirers are staring at Allura in adoration.

Keith’s annoyance is tangible as more and more minutes pass and a few people leave the line out of frustration, but finally _(finally)_ the old woman leaves with three cans of buttermilk and Shiro and Keith has to wait only a moment before Allura is free.

“Shiro!” she exclaims the second she sees them. She’s wearing a pale pink dress and a small apron with sewed daisies - otherwise she's wholly covered in fur. Her smile is always contagious. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been… busy,” Shiro says and it’s true even if vague.

“It’s good to see you,” Allura replies before turning to look at Keith. Her smile doesn’t falter even if Keith answers it with a scowl. “Who is this? I haven’t seen her before.”

“This is Keith,” Shiro says. For some reason she feels incredibly awkward. “She’s… new around here.”

Allura nods as a greeting, too polite to question either of them further. “So, what can I get you today, Shiro? We’ve sold out most of the products already, but there’s still left of that brie cheese you like so much,” she teases and Shiro chuckles out a laugh.

“I do love that cheese,” she replies. “But there’s something more important you could help us out with.”

“Of course, what do you need?” Allura asks kindly and Shiro is immediately relieved. 

“We can’t really talk about it here, we should go somewhere more private,” Shiro says quietly, glancing at the surrounding people. Some of them are already subtly eavesdropping, Shiro can tell.

Allura frowns, gaze on Keith, but she only says, “Sure, I’ll get Lance to cover for me. Lance!”

After a few seconds, Allura’s husband Lance appears from behind a stock of barrels, holding a half-eaten sandwich and a huge pint of apple juice. 

“What?” he asks with feigned grumpiness. “I’m in the middle of my lunch break. Oh, hey Shiro and... whoever you are,” Lance adds as an afterthought before squinting at Keith who glares back. She seems already unimpressed with him.

“Lance,” Allura says with a fond shake of her head. She takes off her flowery apron and hands it to Lance who only stares at it blankly. “It’s my turn to take a break. You need to tend the stall in the meantime.”

“Aww, really?” he pouts.

“Yes, really,” Allura says firmly and pushes Lance into action by shoving him gently towards the food stand. “I’ll be back soon. Please, don’t scare off the customers this time,” she adds before gesturing to Shiro and Keith to follow her.

*

“A selkie?” Allura gasps loudly in surprise. She looks startled to the bone, the word echoing in the silence. Shiro looks around in alarm, but they still appear to be alone in the small back alley Allura brought them. “ _Here?_ ” Allura hisses. She’s looking at Shiro, not Keith. “Are you absolutely certain?”

Keith scoffs in disbelief. Allura is still like a statue as Keith straightens her back with all the grace she has. “I am quite sure what I am, thank you.”

There's no venom in her voice, though, she seems mostly amused about Allura’s incredulous words. Keith has opened her lambswool coat and is fingering the hoods drawstrings, leaning on the brickwall of one of the buildings. She’s still cradling the paperback holding the dreamcatcher.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply --” Allura says breaking in the middle of her sentence. She blinks once. Twice. Shiro is not sure whether she is excited or confused. “This is just... unexpected. It is very difficult to believe someone like you could be here or… even _exist_.”

She doesn’t look too unbelieving despite her words, though. Allura is fairly new in the island, but Shiro assumes she has heard about the tales, too, as they are well known, but no one actually believed them to be true. 

Shiro definitely didn’t till she found Keith. She can still see the vivid image of her lifeless looking body by the beach in her mind. She shivers.

“May I see your hands?” Allura requests and Keith takes off her gloves with little hesitation to reveal her webbed fingers and scaly hands. Allura touches her gently, tracing Keith’s skin with her thumb. Then she bends over and brings Keith’s palm next to her own ear.

“Amazing,” she says in wonder. “The quintessence in you is remarkably strong. I can feel it on your skin, like a tingle of a wind. It has a _sound_. Do you feel it?” she asks Keith who nods.

Shiro has no idea what Allura means. She squirms on her feet as Allura murmurs something Shiro can’t hear over the bustle of the market and links her own fingers between Keith’s own.

"I have heard the, umm, myths about your people but I never imagined… This is truly good news," Allura says as she pulls away to look at Shiro. Her eyes are shining as if they're reflecting light and Allura looks like she wants to touch and prod Keith further, but Keith takes a visible step back.

Allura seems to catch herself. "Oh, Keith, pardon my enthusiasm. I'm making a fool of myself." Allura clears her throat, but she is visibly trembling. "W-what happened to you, how did Shiro find you?"

"She saved me," Keith says simply. Allura glances at Shiro, a small, knowing smile on her lips. Shiro wonders if this is what a sudden heart attack feels like.

"Of course she did," Allura answers. "That's just like Shiro, isn't it?"

Keith frowns. "How would you know?"

Allura turns to smile at Shiro, her voice fond. “Shiro has helped me out quite a few times, as well.”

“It is not the same,” Keith says darkly.

Shiro coughs loudly. She feels like someone is strangling the breath out of her.

"Anyway, back to the matter at hand," Allura says smoothly even if Keith looks like she wants to question her further. "Your seal skin is missing, you said?"

"More likely stolen," Keith replies, “by your power hungry men.”

"Ah, of course,” Allura says. She subtly ignores Keith’s accusing expression. “It’s the quintessence, they want, isn’t it? It’s an incredible source of energy. And you cannot return to the sea without your skin so now you're trapped on dry land. A perfect target. Hmm."

"Have you heard about anything like this? Keith has said there's been other disappearances among her clan, too," Shiro tries. She feels so helpless. " _Please_ , Allura, if you know…"

Allura looks overwhelmed. She shakes her head in quick movement, her silver earrings swinging. "I truly cannot say I do. There's always greedy men who hunger for the likes of Keith, keeping them little more than prized possessions. It is… disturbing," Allura says with a haunted look in her eyes. "But I haven't heard rumours of any selkies in these parts. Most don't even believe they exist so it's rather difficult to get information.”

Allura looks more than apologetic but it doesn't help the devastation it causes in Keith. Something aching to a sob that breaks through her firm demeanor, but she hides it quickly and well. Shiro wants to do something, hold her and keep her safe from this world for surely no one deserves this kind of cruelty.

"I'm sorry, Keith," Shiro murmurs. There’s nothing she can do, now.

Keith doesn't answer for a long while. Allura changes a worried glance with Shiro, but keeps her distance. Finally Keith murmurs quietly, "It is not your fault, Takashi."

Shiro's heart breaks. She can feel how it cracks in half in her chest, forming a bleeding wound. She feels miserable.

"I will look into it, I promise," Allura vows, but Keith’s smile is weak. Shiro’s not sure if Keith will even believe Allura. "I have many resources at my disposal that I can use now that you've brought this to my attention.”

“Thank you, Allura,” Shiro says. There’s a sliver of hope for Keith, at least.

“Don't worry, Keith," she says gently with a far away look in her deeply blue eyes. Almost wistful. 

"We will find your skin and get you back home again."

*

“What do you know of her?” Keith asks as soon as Allura has gone back to the market and they are alone in the back alley. She has composed herself for not to show the sorrow she no doubt carries, but she seems almost too distracted to even think about it for now.

Keith watched Allura’s retreating back a long while before turning her attention to Shiro again.

“About Allura? She’s a good friend,” Shiro answers, a little confused about Keith’s demanding curiosity.

“Yes, but beyond that,” Keith says, clearly impatient. Her body fidgets as if agitated. “Where does she come from?”

“I’m… not too sure actually,” Shiro says very slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“I feel as if I should _know_ her,” Keiths says with a quiet, careful voice. There’s a deep furrow between her brows as if she is worried about something. “She is… familiar,” she continues, her lilac eyes distant as if she’s deep inside forgotten memories.

But then Keith only shakes her head and says, “Let us go,” and Shiro follows her away from the shadows back to the market square.

*

The blacksmith’s wife’s name is Ingrid and she looks as happy as always to see Shiro behind her front door.

“I expected you’d be by yesterday, my dear,” Ingrid says, taking Shiro’s coat and hanging it onto a hook next to the door. Her black hair is wrapped into a messy bun and there’s a spot of soot on her cheek. The house is unusually quiet. Shiro can only hear the fireplace’s flames eating wood.

“You seem better today,” Shiro says gently. She squeezes the shoulder of Ingrid who looks up to meet Shiro’s eyes. For a moment Ingrid’s smile is the same it was two years ago. Kind and welcoming.

Then it turns into a lifeless husk again.

“It was Arvel’s fourth birthday, you know. He was disappointed you didn’t visit,” Ingrid chatters, ignoring Shiro’s earlier statement, “I hope you brought him a gift,” she adds sternly before smiling at Keith. “Who is your friend, Shiro?” she asks, almost warmly. “Someone... special, perhaps?”

Ingrid often appears so cheerful despite everything that’s happened to her. All of it is an act, Shiro has learned. Ingrid is a deeply depressed woman who has buried a great tragedy in her heart. Yet, she is _very_ invested in Shiro's lack of love life.

“Ah, no, we’re not like that,” Shiro says as fast as she can, painfully aware of Keith’s silence next to her. “This is Keith, an old friend of mine. “

“Oh? I haven’t seen you before,” Ingrid says slowly. Her brown eyes are almost too curious to Shiro’s liking. “Are you from the mainland?”

The silence is heavy.

“My home is the ocean,” Keith says and Shiro would think she’s deliberately trying to expose herself, if she didn’t look so incredibly confused and _vulnerable_ under Ingrid’s intruding gaze. Keith looks up to Shiro for support and Shiro immediately wants to shield her against her chest so she would always feel safe.

Keith didn’t deserve any of this.

“What on earth does that mean?” Ingrid’s hands are on her bony hips as she looks at Keith from head to toe. “You’re a sailor? A fisherman? You don’t seem the type.”

Keith looks at Shiro for support. Her voice is but a tremble. “I…”

“She is neither,” Shiro says. She feels tired. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I... suppose not,” Ingrid admits, but she’s clearly displeased about it. But almost immediately afterwards, she sighs deeply. She looks tired, too. “Forgive me, Keith. Shiro usually comes alone and my curiosity got the better of me. Any friend of Shiro’s will always be welcome here.”

Her smile is a little hollow and Keith doesn’t say anything back, but Shiro is relieved. “Thank you, Ingrid,” she says before adding, “and I did, in fact, bring a birthday present to Arvel.”

Shiro digs through her pack for the wooden seal pup she made as a gift. She took it with her in case they had the time to visit the family and Keith allowed it. She presents it to Ingrid a little awkwardly. “It’s not my best work, but I hope he will like it.”

“Oh, Shiro. This is absolutely beautiful!” Ingrid gasps as Shiro hands it to her. “It was sweet of you to remember. I’m sure my little Arvel will love it.”

Ingrid turns to Keith with a smoldering smile, presumably ready to take her coat as well, but then she stills. Completely and wholly, like someone had cast a spell on her. Her eyes are wide in fright. 

Shiro looks over to see that Keith has taken off her gloves.

Her scaled and webbed hands are completely on sight -- there’s no hiding them, the fish-like texture or the traces of sea and quintessence on her skin. There’s no hiding that Keith is anything but a creature of the ocean..

Ingrid swallows. She falls back, glutching the wooden toy to her chest. She grabs a door jamb, her knuckles white from the strict grip.

“You need to go,” she says, “right now.”

“Ingrid --” Shiro tries. Keith is completely still next to her and Shiro pulls her closer by finding and touching her rigid hand. She squeezes as gently as she can, but Keith’s breathing remains shaky.

 _”Now,”_ Ingrid hisses. Shiro has never seen her like this -- vicious but still somehow terrified. She grabs a nearby broom handle and points them with it. “Get out!”

And they go, hearing Ingrid slam the door shut behind them. 

*

“I am sorry,” Keith murmurs when they’re halfway up the road leading to Shiro’s lonesome cabin.

Shiro is carrying her as she did earlier on their way to the market. They’re moving considerably slower now, Shiro’s wooden arm is chafing her skin apart, and despite Keith’s light weight, this whole trip back has been nothing but torture. Both of them have been quiet since they left the blacksmith’s house -- this is the first time either of them has said anything.

“No,” Shiro answers, her voice soothing, “I am.”

This is possibly the guiltiest she’s ever felt.

“It was my fault,” Keith says. “I forgot that --”

“I brought you there,” Shiro points out. She improves her grip on Keith, hissing through her teeth as the fake arm bends. “It was stupid of me. I knew Ingrid was a superstitious woman yet we went there, anyway. Therefore _I_ am a fool who's sorry.”

The days are shorter now that winter is coming so there’s already signs of the nearing sunset over the cliffs. The sky is pale pink in colour behind the clouds which are always present on the island. Shiro would appreciate the view if she wasn’t so exhausted that her body is about to fall apart.

“Hmm.”

There's silence and complentation. Keith’s arms around Shiro’s neck tighten. A seagull shouts somewhere close.

“Are you sure that is all it was?” she wonders carefully. Her legs dangle elegantly in the air, occasionally touching Shiro’s thigh. “She seemed very afraid.”

Shiro pauses. Considers her thoughts, her approach. “Her son drowned a couple of years ago,” she tells Keith whose breathing entirely stops for a moment, before releasing in a sigh.

“He fell down from a cliff into the sea,” Shiro continues, feeling cold and useless. “It was fall and the currents and waves are very strong in this area. He never even had a chance even if he knew how to swim. Ingrid hasn’t been the same ever since. She believes the ocean is evil full of devil’s advocates and the like.”

“That is horrible,” Keith says softly. Shiro is not sure whether she means the little boy’s death or Ingrid’s delusions. Most likely both.

“I know.”

It’s still strangely difficult to talk about it, even if Shiro was not the one who suffered the most. But he was a really sweet boy and Shiro had come to know him well during the years as she worked the forge with his father to earn extra coin. He was quiet, but always seemed enthusiastic about every little thing that interested him.

“His name was Emanuel and he was nine years old. He didn’t deserve that fate.”

"No, he did not," Keith says and the conversation ends after that.

*

Both of them are tired and in pain once they reach the top of the cliff Shiro’s cabin lies.

It’s almost completely dark now, the hours having creeped up on them. Keith has taken off her shoes entirely and is limping slowly across the yard to get inside the hut, but Shiro waits till she hears the front door close and sees the lights flicking on before taking off her makeshift prosthesis. Her arm is in a really bad condition. It hurts like hell, the strap binding the stump to the wood has broken the skin of her upper arm with an angry looking welt. Her body is sweaty all over, from pain or exhaustion, she’s not sure.

“Shit,” Shiro says. That’s the only word really left in her.

Nothing they did today seems to matter. Allura is always efficient and thorough, but Shiro can’t help but feel that her search will be fruitless. Shiro wanted to help Keith so badly but it seems like the universe hasn’t spared anything for them to exploit.

How cruel, Shiro thinks, and slowly, ever so slowly, makes herself follow Keith’s footsteps back inside her cabin.

*

Shiro only sees it after having spent a few slow minutes sitting by the kitchen table, waiting for her cup of raspberry tea to cool down enough to drink. As she sips from her mug, she turns her gaze to the bed where Keith lies and almost gasps aloud at the sight.

The white gorgeous dreamcatcher is hanging from the curtain rack, swaying gently over Keith’s sleeping form, as if guarding her sleep. Behind the window, the Moon is luminating Keith’s soft features into something pure and magical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate kudos & comments of any kind. ♥


	3. where she has learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The differences between you and me," Keith answers, like it truly is that simple. Shiro knows what Keith means, obviously, but a small part of her still has hope. If only because she can't help but feel there are more things not yet unveiled.
> 
> “I know,” Shiro says again, without a meaningful expression this time. “Of course I do.”
> 
> Part of her doesn’t even understand what this conversation is about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looook at me go! :') I got this finished way earlier than I expected woah. This is a little shorter than the last one, though, around 5k (the earlier was like almost 7k), but there's still some stuff going on. I'm really excited about it. Thank you guys for your comments in the last chapter, it truly makes me really glad that people are enjoying this story. ♥

Shiro wakes up to a dog’s loud barking and the sound of shattering glass.

She groans and rubs her eyes with a calloused palm, trying to banish away her endless fatigue, before squinting at the ugly cuckoo clock on the opposite side of the panel wall. It’s late morning already. Half-past nine.

Shiro has slept this long only a handful of times this fall, she’s usually up the minute the sun decides to raise, too restless to drowse any later when there’s early fish to catch, winter repairs to be made and a garden that needs tending. She tries to remain efficient and diligent despite her own shortcomings.

There’s noise outside. More enthusiastic yipping and banging.

Shiro gets up and drags herself to the iced window only to notice there’s a fractured hole in it. She raises her eyebrows and glimpses over her shoulder to see a stone little over the size of a fist by the fireplace with shards of glass all over the place. Shiro’s barefoot so she’s lucky she didn’t step on them.

“Fuck,” Shiro says with feeling. That is going to be expensive and arduous to repair.

Shiro turns away and notices for the first time that Keith’s bed is empty. The colourless sheets are ruffled and the pillow is squeezed between the wall and the headboard. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs aloud. Then, a sense of panic overwhelms her. _“Keith.”_

She looks around frantically to find something to wear, spots the old night robe Shiro gave Keith when she first found her and wraps it around herself.

Shiro runs to the hallway and leaps into a pair of winter boots, already halfway through the door. The barking has paused for a moment and Shiro’s yell echoes across the surrounding cliffs. “Keith!”

It’s freezingly cold outside and Shiro shivers as she strides the porch stairs down. Everything is completely covered in frost. The grass is numb under her feet and Shiro faintly wonders about the wellbeing of her plants in the garden shed. She needs to check that the heating lamps work properly.

“Takashi!” 

Shiro sighs in relief. She almost feared --

She shakes her head. “Keith,” she says, just to taste her name in her mouth.

She goes around the cabin to the other side of the yard, where the dormant cherry trees are and for a moment she just blinks at the sight with raised eyebrows. Then she smiles, her heart dancing under her rib cage, happiness glimmering on her cheeks.

“What the hell are you two _doing?”_ she asks as she catches up the distance between Keith and a giant black wolf-dog that Shiro has come to know during the years she’s lived here.

“Shiro!” Keith sighs. She has Shiro’s yellow raincoat on (which is way too thin for this kind of frost) and her eyes shine under the fur cap she was wearing yesterday at the village. Her hair looks soft but it’s actually static because of the freezing weather.

She’s… beautiful.

She always is. Shiro’s not certain why it still keeps surprising her.

“Shiro,” Keith says again with a delighted laugh. The wolf-dog woofs once and Keith kneels to scratch the top of his head with her knuckles. “Look.”

Shiro crouches down and offers her hand to the dog. “Hey boy,” she says softly as he immediately comes to her for more pets, tail wagging happily. “What are you doing here, huh?” Shiro asks as she pets his furry flank. She can clearly feel his ribs under the thick pelt.

“He is very handsome,” Keith says, playing with the dogs perky ears. She seems astonished, almost. Another wonder of this world Keith has never witnessed. “I have never seen a creature like this.”

Shiro lifts her head to look at her. “It’s a dog. Well, I think he’s actually partly a wolf based on his looks,” Shiro says before getting up, shivering from the cold. She wraps the robe more firmly around herself. “Some of us keep them as pets,” Shiro explains once Keith looks initially confused.

That gets her a happy bark. Shiro smiles down at him.

“Interesting,” Keith opines. She seems thoughtful. “Does he belong to someone?”

“No,” Shiro answers. Her frown is a matching one with Keith. “He’s a stray, I think. I’ve seen him around a few times, but he’s never allowed me this close before,” she continues and the wolf-dog pants as an answer. Keith looks sorrowful and presses a tender kiss to the wolf’s forehead.

Shiro is barely aware that she’s staring a little too intently.

“He must be very hungry,” Keith says afterwards with a small worried smile. He immediately whines and offers Keith his huge front paw, nails scraping the cloth of the raincoat. “Please, could you give him something to eat, Shiro?” Keith asks. Her eyes are soft.

Shiro nods. She shivers from the cold, eager to get back inside. “I think I have some leftover ham in the fridge,” she says soothingly, daring to touch Keith’s cold hand with her own. It’s very brief and Keith doesn’t say anything, she is too focused on the wolf-dog and his, admittedly adorable, puppy eyes. He seems to be intelligent enough to realise the promise of food and starts jumping around them in excitement.

“Would you like that, boy?” Shiro says and claps her thigh with her hand. “Would you like some ham for your empty tummy?”

The dog barks three times in a row before sprinting ahead of Shiro and Keith towards the cabin’s front door. Shiro hears Keith murmur a quiet thank you as they follow him.

*

“I am sorry about the window,” Keith says later, startling Shiro who is digging through the fridge to find the meat she promised for the dog.

“What?” Shiro asks, distracted, as the wolf-dog keeps pushing his head between her legs to snoop at the food on display and she has only one arm to push him away with. But then Keith whistles, a high and a little eerie sound, and he comes running to her, where she's sitting on the kitchen table again.

“I broke it with a rock,” Keith tells her with no excuses. She’s eating an apple with big, greedy bites; she seems to have grown fond of them after an initial dislike. At first Keith gagged at everything she ate that wasn’t some form of seafood, but now she’s started to experiment more.

“Oh,” Shiro answers and peers at the back of the shelves, moving a carton of yogurt out of the way. And yes, there it is. “Yeah, I saw it. It’s fine.”

“I think he was trying to play with me,” Keith wonders aloud. She leans down to stroke the dog’s soft head, presses her cold, red nose against his fur. “So I took a rock from the ground and threw it for him, but it hit and shattered the window instead.”

“It was an accident,” Shiro says kindly while she, very very precariously, cuts down a few generous pieces of the cold ham and sets them in the hugest bowl she owns. The dog is a really big boy. “I can fix that.”

She puts down the dish and the dog almost bites her only arm off in his hurry to wolf down the food he obviously craves for. Shiro and Keith watch him eat in silence.

“Can I help?” Keith asks then, almost out of nowhere. “To fix the window?”

Shiro stares at her, a little startled. Keith looks completely genuine and remorseful even, the tiniest hopeful smile on her tempting red, salt flaky lips. She’s still wearing Shiro’s raincoat and the fur cap, her thighs naked and feet bare.

Shiro can feel her heartbeat in the pulsepoint of her neck, quick and strong.

She says yes.

*

The wolf-dog stays.

Keith gives him a thorough bath in the washroom, leaving the floor tiles so wet that Shiro almost crushes her skull when she slips on it later, about to wash her teeth. At least he doesn’t smell as bad as he did before and Keith seems a little happier with him around, her longing is not as prominent as before, the cabin’s atmosphere is not quite so… unbearably desperate as it was before they went to the market yesterday and met with Allura.

Maybe she doesn’t feel as hopeless about her fate anymore. Shiro is far too selfless to feel anything but joy for her.

Shiro patches the broken window with a little piece of tarp and duct tape with Keith’s help. The rest of the repair has to wait for later, but Keith’s unique scent lingers in Shiro's mind hours after.

It doesn’t completely keep out the cold, however. Keith’s lips are almost blue by the time the evening progresses into the night. She keeps hiding her hopeless shivers, but Shiro notices her blight and feeds the fireplace till she’s too sleepy to keep watch in case of carbon monoxide poisoning.

Keith is already buried underneath the covers, curled into a fetal position with the wolf-dog lying behind her back, keeping her warm. His huge head is resting against Keith’s waist. 

The broken window is thankfully on the other side of Keith’s bed. 

“Are you cold?” Shiro whispers under her breath, holding a few extra quilts in her arms. Keith opens her pretty eyes slowly, blinking at Shiro’s silhouette in the dim lighting. The wolf-dog boofs tiredly and snuffles into Keith’s armpit and Keith pushes him gently away with a quiet giggle.

“Do you want another blanket?” Shiro murmurs, resisting the urge to lay the back of her hand to Keith’s forehead to feel its temperature.

“I am fine, Shiro,” Keith says, sounding exasperant, and finger combs her messy curls away from her face so she can look at Shiro better. “You do not need to worry so much,” she murmurs, almost softly.

Shiro’s confident Keith can’t see her blush in the dark. “Can’t help it,” she admits sheepishly and scratches her ear. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

_Or get hurt, ever._

Keith's lips form a tiny bow, almost hidden by the pillow. "I am not going to get sick, Shiro," she says and it sounds like a teasing promise. Her idle fingers pet through the wolf dog's black fur. "Just go to sleep," she murmurs and covers a yawn with her fist. Then she closes her eyes, almost immediately asleep again.

Shiro sighs, mesmerised, before putting one of the blankets on the foot of the bed and goes to lie on her couch on the other side of the room.

"Good night, Keith," she whispers into the quietness.

She probably imagines hearing the fragile answer in return.

*

Neither of them gets sick during the freezing night, but Shiro decides in the morning hours that she needs to fix the blighted window as soon as possible. That means today.

She boils some water in a pot for her morning coffee, while pondering about the situation and how she should approach it. She definitely needs to remove the window from the wall completely, that much is a given. Then they need to take off the rest of the fractured glass by smashing the upper square. Keith will probably enjoy doing that, Shiro thinks. She’s already smiling at the thought as if she can’t even help herself anymore.

Shiro glances at Keith who is currently going through Shiro’s pantry in search of… something. Shiro’s not exactly sure what, but Keith seems determined enough to know it herself. The wolf dog is whining as he circles both of them sequentially in hope for scraps. Shiro pushes his rather adorable face off her lap as she finishes the last of her porridge, licking the spoon clean of any remaining peanut butter.

The wolf-dog drools.

“Nope,” Shiro shakes her head to him, trying to sound stern. “You already got your breakfast.”

His tail wags. _“No,”_ Shiro says, shooing him off with a hand wave and he finally grumpily leaves her alone, going to lie down on the floor and curling into a big furry ball.

“Do not be so hard on him,” Keith says. Shiro turns to look at her and finds that she has found the jar where Shiro keeps the cocoa powder. “What is this?” Keith asks and dips her forefinger into the mix without waiting for an answer. After putting the finger into her mouth and sucking it clean, she smacks her lips thoughtfully.

“It is very sweet,” Keith comments, having no idea that Shiro almost has a fatal heart attack, her throat dry and eyes wide, feelings in total disorder. Fuck.

Somehow, Shiro manages to choke out a chuckle and moves Keith very gently out of the way so she can get to the stove. 

“Here, look,” Shiro says and pours her favourite ceramic mug full of the boiling water before adding a few teaspoons of the cocoa powder in it. Smiling, she offers it to Keith who looks a bit suspicious at first, sniffing the steam flitting from the hot chocolate.

“Careful,” Shiro warns, when Keith takes a long, careful sip of the scalding drink, while Shiro leans her hip against the kitchen counter and taps the floor with her heel.

Keith swallows. She pauses. She smacks her lips like she did before. “Hmm.”

“What do you think?” Shiro asks and resists the urge to wipe off a stain of chocolate on the corner of Keith’s lips. She’s full-on grinning now, gladness purer than blood filling her veins.

Keith takes another sip and looks at Shiro under her eyelashes, her face shaped into something Shiro can’t quite recognise. Something teasing and wild, but gentle, too. Keith is always hard to read, but sometimes (often) Shiro wishes she could do it with skill alone.

“Good,” Keith finally announces. “I like how you made it.”

What is Shiro supposed to answer to _that._ Her brain feels like a barren, empty wasteland. 

So, she doesn’t say anything -- she only nods, takes the drained mug Keith offers her and places it in the sink, all the while gulping air like it’s water.

Christ, but she’s a fool.

*

They fix the window together that day.

Shiro wrenches the frame out of the wall with honorable preciseness with Keith and the wolf-dog hovering close by, both of them looking equally fascinated. The window is a small sash one and Keith broke only the upper part of it so it’s a fairly quick fix if one knows how to do it. Luckily Shiro does.

Together, Shiro and Keith carry it to the shed with the wolf-dog frolicking around them, happy but not at all helpful. Shiro could do it on her own with no problems, but Keith is adamant about doing her part and Shiro lets her help in the small ways she can. Smashing the rest of the glass seems to bring Keith great joy. She beats it apart with a hammer with an absolutely delighted expression on her face. Shiro doesn’t let her smooth the sharp, cutting edges of glass from the sides of the window, though, preferring to do it herself so no one gets hurt.

Shiro does most of the work, but Keith seems glad to do the little tasks Shiro asks her to, otherwise looking at Shiro’s handwork intently with mild comments on her progress, sometimes questioning Shiro’s doings with raised eyebrows.

Through it all, Shiro smiles as if she’s just learned how.

*

“When do you think we will hear from Allura?” Keith asks, watching closely as Shiro is raking birch leaves from the garden pathway. She’s sitting on a hacked tree stump with the wolf-dog laying on the grass in front of her. She’s asking for the first time in the few days that have passed since their talk with Allura.

Shiro’s a little sweaty under her two wool sweaters despite the coldness of the weather. She wipes her wet mouth to her sleeve and turns to watch at Keith. “Give her some time,” she answers, making Keith scoff aloud. She clearly doesn’t like it.

“I’m serious,” Shiro says, looking down at Keith with a frown. She pulls off her mitten to scratch her brow. Her fingernails have overgrown. “I’m sure it’s difficult to wait, but--”

“You truly do not understand, Shiro,” Keith cuts her off. Her fingers are clenched into the wolf dog's fur and her eyes are hungry for freedom.

“It is not just ‘difficult’. This is _agonising_ for me.”

She doesn’t seem angry, exactly. Frustrated and tired, maybe, but her blame points to no one. Shiro swallows and bites her lip till it hurts, thoughts bouncing back and forth, up and down. “We just need to--”

“Takashi,” Keith says quietly, "you have been very kind to me. I appreciate it, I even treasure it. I was very lucky that it was you who found me. Anyone else would have taken advantage without question.”

Keith pauses, but Shiro has no time to object till she speaks again. "But I am deeply unhappy in dry land as I have told you many times. Forgive my impatience, but I do not want to spend more time here than is necessary."

"I know that," Shiro says. She's scowling visibly and she knows it. She lets the truth eat it away. There's a deep hole in her gut, widening with every bated breath, every hopeless wish abandoned. "I know you're eager to go home, but you can't expect things to go smoothly and be over in a few days."

"I am not," Keith says, scrapping Shiro of all thought. She just… doesn’t understand Keith sometimes. Is it even possible for a human to understand a creature so wild and unknown?

"Then what is the issue?" Shiro sighs, a puff of coldness airing from her mouth.

"The differences between you and me," Keith answers, like it truly is that simple. Shiro knows what Keith means, obviously, but a small part of her still has hope. If only because she can't help but feel there are more things not yet unveiled.

“I know,” Shiro says again, without a meaningful expression this time. “Of course I do.”

Part of her doesn’t even understand what this conversation is about.

“Truly?” Keith asks, thoughtful, and now she stands up from the tree stump and closes the distance between them. Shiro forces herself not to back away, her insides feeling raw and powerless. She doesn’t move, can’t move. 

And then Keith is already cupping Shiro’s cheek with her ice-cold palm, a considering look in her eyes. They’re like an underwater ocean trench, something that drowns all thoughts in Shiro’s mind. 

Shiro trembles deep within as Keith touches her. It’s merely a few second long touch that is not even a caress, it’s too calculating and not at all intimate. But it’s skin on skin, and Shiro revels in it the little it lasts. 

Keith smiles afterwards, something like relief in her features, when Shiro doesn’t initiate their closeness in any other way, letting Keith step away on her own accord.

“Good.”

Then Keith is gone as quick as she came, leaving the smell of the sea with her as a reminder of their recent closeness. Shiro watches as Keith whistles the wolf-dog to follow her back inside the cabin, the door closing behind them like an end of a story chapter.

A test, then.

*

"Oi, Shirogane!"

Shiro closes her eyes. Counts to three. Tries not to scream.

This is probably a rude way to react when one’s best friend decides to come for a friendly visit after three weeks of radio silence. But this is also extremely, extremely bad timing and Shiro kind of wants to run away and hide.

“Shir _ooo_. I know you’re here somewhere.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Keith is luckily inside so Shiro is alone in the shed tending to her plants after noticing that the heating lamps were malfunctioning. But Matthew Holt has never been very considerate with Shiro’s personal belongings and he might have been inside the hut already.

Shiro clenches her teeth and sure enough, after a few seconds there’s a knock on the shed’s door and a very familiar head pokes through the crack.

“Are you deaf or something?” Matt accuses her with a frown on his face as he slides the door open fully. He crosses his arms and Shiro feels a pang of guilt. She loves Matt, she truly does, but he has the tendency to arrive at the worst possible moment. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. I almost thought you’ve drowned or something.”

Shiro sighs and glances at him over her shoulder. He doesn’t look too angry, but a little concerned. She should have expected this, truly. Matt has always worried about her self isolation. “Not funny,” she says. “Close the door and come in, otherwise the plants will freeze and die.”

Matt does as she asks and Shiro takes off her garden glove and stands up to meet him. Matt’s eyes are razor-sharp as he looks at Shiro, clearly weighing her with his brown eyes. He squints and Shiro squints back.

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches when Matt finally nods in approval, seemingly happy that Shiro hasn’t lost any (more) of her important limbs.

“So...” Matt says and Shiro already knows this doesn’t go anywhere good, “before I accuse you of being a bad friend and a dick for making me worry for your health, I have a quick question.”

Shiro can feel herself grimacing already. She can feel the sweat dripping on her brow, a strangling feel of dread in her throat. 

“Since when have you had a giant wolf guard dog who almost snaps the fingers off of your best friend, who has only come to visit you after not having heard a peep from you for three whole months?” he asks casually, hopping onto an empty barrel to sit on with a familiar twinkle in his clear eyes and Shiro almost sighs in relief. Keith is safe from his curiosity for now.

“It’s been, like, a week, don’t be so dramatic,” Shiro says off-handedly and continues to dig into the soil of her cucumbers. She’s glad to notice that they’re not beyond saving, yet.

“It was _three_ weeks and you’re avoiding the question.”

“It’s not a wolf,” Shiro says slowly. “It’s a dog with wolf genes in it.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” Matt says back. His restless heels are banging into the barrel as he watches Shiro work. He has always been a little anxious, too much energy and intelligence to stay still for too long. “Your heating lamps are a mess, dude,” he says after a while of Shiro struggling with her small garden.

“I know,” Shiro mutters under her breath. She stabs her mattock into the dirt. She rubs her arm in effort of keeping the remaining muscles warm. Damned thing, always bothering her, never giving a moment of break.

“You need any help?” Matt offers. It’s merely a question and not a suggestion made out of pity. It’s one of the reasons Matt is Shiro’s best friend. He has never made Shiro feel like an invalid; he’s always happy to offer assistance, but never out of ill-placed sympathy.

He’s a good friend.

“That’d be great, actually. I just need to--”

Shiro hears the hesitant, quick steps outside the shed, but she has no time to do anything before the door groans as it’s opened and Keith enters in, bringing a burst of frost and shoreline with her.

Shiro pauses for a quick breath and a wish for better luck next time. Or any time, actually. Shiro is not actually a very lucky person in general, but she tries not to think about it too much.

Matt is startled by the sudden noise, but as he turns his gaze, his expression turns wide-eyed and his mouth is gaping open like a fish on dry land. He visibly swallows, Adam's apple clicking in his neck. Shiro doesn’t blame him. Keith is always a sight for sore eyes and she lets out a little sigh herself.

“Shiro?” Keith asks, gaze jumping between Shiro and Matt again and again. She stops, seemingly not knowing what to do.

Matt finally finds his words. “Who is _this?”_ he asks with a stressing voice, turning to look at Shiro like she has betrayed him in some way.

“She’s a friend,” Shiro says, exchanging a meaningful look with Keith, who looks as stunned as Matt at the sudden and unexpected encounter. “Keith, this is Matt. Matt, Keith.”

Shiro is extremely uncomfortable in the way Matt looks at Keith. She trusts Matt, without a question, but he has a reputation and this is very different from the other ones he has dallied with. Keith is just... _different._

Matt seems a little bit lost for words but gathers himself quickly. “Matthew Holt, extremely delighted to meet you, my lady,” he says eagerly and looks ready to kiss the back of Keith’s hand, but Shiro pulls him away from his jacket’s hood before he has the chance to do that.

“It is... nice to meet you?” Keith says, making it sound like a confused question instead of a genuine answer. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look too suspicious or aggressive, despite Matt being a human man-- the first one she has properly met after her rescue. 

Shiro tries not to let it bother her too much, but something is gnawing her insides as she watches Matt ramble something very trivial to Keith, who keeps looking at Shiro, completely perplexed.

Shiro sighs very loudly, her heart twisting into something new and a little ugly. “Matt.”

Matt stops in the middle of his sentence. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “We just don’t meet many new people around here. Especially pretty ones,” he adds as the menace he is.

Shiro pinches the bridge of her nose. _”Matt.”_

“Sorry,” Matt says again and Keith actually _laughs_. It’s a little unsure, but completely honest in its quietness and Shiro kind of feels like she’s being subtly swept under a carpet.

Shiro straightens her back. Enough is enough, she decides.

*

Shiro doesn’t tell Matt the truth. Not even half of it.

She feels guilty about it, but in the end none of this is her decision. It’s Keith’s and she agreed that only Allura should know about it for now. And Ingrid, of course, but that couldn’t be helped. Luckily she’s not one for conflict and as they haven’t heard from her since their visit, Shiro can only assume Ingrid hasn’t done anything drastic yet.

Matt is clever enough to realise that Shiro (and Keith) are hiding something from him, but he doesn’t seem to particularly mind as he keeps flirting with Keith, occasionally making her huff or half-smile, and talking about mindless things that don’t matter that much.

Shiro’s not sure what he’s on about, she’s leaning on her elbow and watching Keith’s reactions to his comments and chatter. Once Keith notices her staring, however, she looks away and starts to tear her napkin to tiny shreds that probably resemble her own insecurities.

The wolf-dog is begging for scraps, drooling at the smell of mince pie. Shiro imagines her feelings kind of resemble his at this moment. She gives him a few crumbs of her slice and tries not to feel too obviously defeated, but she’s sure Matt notices her mood, because after a while he cools down and starts to be friendly rather than overly flirtatious. 

But Keith doesn’t seem to notice the change in his behavior, she keeps her replies vague and polite like before, and it makes Shiro feel a little bit better.

*

_”Sooo,”_ Matt says stretching the word in a way that makes Shiro immediately stiffen. He’s wrapping his thick scarf around his neck, but the buttons of his coat are still hanging open and he doesn’t exactly look like he’s leaving anytime soon. “You and her, huh?”

“W-what?” Shiro sputters, alarmed, as Matt grins at her knowingly. She covers his mouth with her palm. Keith is still in the kitchen with the wolf-dog and Shiro can hear her singing aloud a hymn with a meaning she will never know.

Matt only raises his eyebrow at Shiro’s vaguely terrified expression.

“It’s not like that,” Shiro hisses and glances over her shoulder quickly. “We’re only… friends.”

Honestly, Shiro is not sure if they’re even that much. She hopes so, but one never knew with Keith.

“Uh-huh,” Matt says sceptically. Then he seems to realise something. “Wait, does she _live_ with you?”

Shiro flushes. “For the time being,” she answers as evasively as she can. “But it’s not like that,” she says again, just to make it perfectly clear. Matt doesn’t look like he believes her.

“Wow,” Matt says, completely incredulous. “So, you haven’t, you know, tried anything with her?”

“Of course not!” Shiro says, probably a bit too loudly. She pushes the palm of her hand into her eye socket and wishes she was blind so she wouldn’t need to see the look on Matt’s face.

Matt taps his lips with his forefinger. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I tried to woo her?” he asks as the devious bastard he is, clearly thinking he’s got her. He looks possibly delighted at the thought, but Shiro knows if she denied him now, he would never go for it.

Shiro swallows hard. She shakes her head. “Not at all,” she breathes out, the words barely words at all. She almost feels like crying. Jesus Christ, but she’s a pathetic human being.

“Huh,” Matt says, but now he looks a little conflicted, like he’s not sure whether Shiro is telling the truth or not. Shiro has always been a good liar, but right now she wishes she wasn’t that hard to read.

 _Please, don’t,_ she wants to beg. _Not her._

Butt Matt says, “We’ll see,” and just like that, Shiro is left dangling in a hangman’s noose.

*

After Matt leaves, Shiro tries to gather herself whole again.

Sometimes she hates herself deeply for not saying what she truly means or wants. It’s always been like this for her-- she doesn’t know how to ask something for herself, no matter how small or big. Her grandfather always said that she needed to learn how to truly go after something she desires and not to look back, but Shiro has never been like him. For better or worse.

Before she has the chance to go back to the kitchen to face Keith, there’s a quick, hasty knock on the door and Shiro opens it only to see Matt behind again.

“Sorry,” Matt huffs, “I forgot to give you this,” he says and shoves a crumpled letter to Shiro’s hands.

Shiro frowns and turns the letter over. No signs of ink. “Who is this from?”

“It’s from the blacksmith’s wife? Ingrid, I think her name is,” Matt answers, obviously distracted by something. “You’re in good terms with her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. Her heart rattles inside her chest, worried and nervous. She clutches the letter to her chest. Dread fills her lungs. “Thanks.”

*

_Shiro,_ it reads.

_I have truly been wrong about you. For years, I’ve considered you like a daughter or even a sister I’ve never had, but now I realise how wrong I have been._

_You truly neither understand nor respect my feelings, perhaps you never have. By harbouring a wicked creature in your home, you have severely hurt me, my late son and the rest of my family with your selfish actions. I have warned you several times about the sea and its dangers, but clearly my words meant nothing to you._

_As a personal favour, I will not tell anyone about your twisted loyalties. It is more than you deserve, but I am not a monster and I remember how you have helped me in the past._

_You should know that your creature’s time is limited. So is yours if you continue to protect it. I hope you will do the right thing and end its life before it makes you lose your own._

_Goodbye,  
Ingrid_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched one (1) youtube video about how to fix a broken window. I don't take criticism. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos & comments of any kind mean the world to me. ♥ It might take some time for me to reply, but I always do it, no matter how late. :')


	4. to trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What now?" Keith eventually asks, holding the sword with surprising confidence.
> 
> "Now," Shiro says, the steadiness of Keith's resolve making her determined in return, "now I'll teach you how to use it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, the 4th chapter is finally here!! :") I hope everyone who sees this, had a nice Christmas or just a regular weekend. ♥
> 
> I'm so sorry it took me so, so long to continue this story, I feel terrible but I don't really have an excuse for it either, tbh. Rest assured, this fic will eventually be finished no matter how long it will take me because this one is one of my personal favourites and I can't wait to get back into things. Super excited about it. I just hope people are still interested after so long, lol.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments in the previous chapter, I truly appreciate & love them so much!! c

Shiro keeps thinking about the letter.

She keeps looking at Keith and thinks about the letter so much her brain is overloading with worry and fear. Keith notices something is wrong because of course she does. Shiro likes to think that they know each other well enough by now-- or at least the bits that matter the most.

So, from time to time, Shiro catches Keith watching her possibly in confusion at her odd behaviour and Shiro absolutely revels in guilt because of it but still --

But still Shiro doesn’t tell her and she’s not even precisely sure _why_.

*

"It is… very pointy," Keith decides, pursing her lips as she eyes Shiro with a doubtful look.

Her long, black hair has been tied into a loose knot behind her neck, but some reckless strands that frame her heart-shaped face are swaying in the ever-present wind of the island. It distracts Shiro more than it should. 

For a moment, Keith's cool eyes find Shiro's own before the latter looks away with an awkward cough. She feels a little pathetic for being so attracted to Keith when the feeling clearly isn't mutual. How foolish and stupid of her.

Shiro only nods and hopes that Keith doesn't notice the thoughts that bring a little flush on her cheeks. 

"Right," Shiro replies, sounding way more cheery than she actually feels. It's chilly despite the sun peering down at them as if it's too stubborn to lose a competition to the sturdy clouds filling the dark sky. "That's kind of the idea."

Keith weights the sword on Shiro's hand with an intense gaze. She still seems suspicious but allows a tentative nod at Shiro's words. "Hmm."

Shiro would test the sharpness of the blade with a fingertip if she had another working arm. She's chosen to go without the wooden prosthesis today, preferring to spare herself from the pain right now even if she feels naked without it-- like she's standing nude in front this gorgeous creature Shiro appreciates far more than necessary.

Idiotic.

"Continue, please."

Keith has gotten better at asking for things rather than outright demanding them. Shiro supposes it counts as progress for maybe it means Keith is slowly getting used to the world of the dry land as she calls it.

Her legs carry her far longer now and her eating habits have grown more diverse. She still likes her apples and Shiro's fish pie, but lately she's started eating (extremely) salted porridge with blueberry jam as well as lamb stew and hot cocoa which seems to be her new favourite.

Yet all the while, her longing for the sea has remained ever so present. Shiro has to remind herself regularly that that is a thing that will never change.

"Would you… like to hold it?" Shiro asks rather awkwardly but luckily the accidental innuendos is not nearly as embarrassing were she a man.

Keith crosses her bony arms. "Is that its purpose?" she questions and Shiro chuckles-- a light, soft thing.

"Its purpose is to attack and defend," she explains.

Keith doesn't seem too impressed. "Defend against what?"

Shiro feels a pang of dreadful guilt forming deep in her gut. It's been a couple of days since Matt's visit and Shiro doesn't really know what to do. She knows Ingrid. They've been friends for a long while and during that time Shiro has never known her to be neither malicious nor spiteful. But still-- Ingrid is deeply troubled and devoted to her cause of defending the rest of her children (and the whole town) until the grave takes her.

Shiro doesn't want Keith to feel unsafe. Shiro will do absolutely anything to shelter Keith from whatever danger she might face. _No one_ will get a chance to hurt her. Not while she breathes.

"From people who might do you harm," Shiro answers and Keith looks taken back for a brief second. Shiro still can't fully read all of her expressions, she still doesn't quite know what Keith is thinking about most of the time.

Eventually, Keith nods in understanding. "Show me."

Shiro hands her the sword by the handle and Keith stumbles forward a bit as she takes it, clearly not expecting its heavyweight. Shiro takes a step forward to help but Keith gathers herself quickly and straightens her back, holding the blade with a steady grip.

Shiro watches her carefully as Keith studies the sword as if she's genuinely curious about it. She brings the too dull blade close to her face, eyes squinting as she inspects it for a long while. Shiro almost bites her tongue when Keith tests the end of it with a fingertip.

She shakes off her nervousness as quickly as she can, though. Now is not the time to feel overprotective.

"What now?" Keith eventually asks, holding the sword with surprising confidence.

"Now," Shiro says, the steadiness of Keith's resolve making her determined in return, "now I'll teach you how to use it."

*

Shiro's wool shirt is itchy with sweat against her skin after hours of teaching Keith the art of sword fighting.

Keith is not a perfect student by any means-- she's too stubborn and questions every little thing and absolutely refuses to take any breaks. But she also learns quicker than anyone else Shiro has ever trained with. They've focused mostly on defensive techniques for now and Keith is pretty much a savant at it.

It's pretty damn impressive. To think that this woman washed ashore mere weeks ago with unbalanced legs and a sad heart, has come this far with sheer determination. It makes Shiro shine with pride.

She does her best to ignore the forever hollow pang of heartbreak at the thought of Keith returning to the shallows of the sea permanently and never to be seen again.

It's not Shiro’s place to wish for anything different.

The wolf-dog has spent most of the time watching their training with vivid eyes from his claimed seat on the porch. Other times he's happily dozing in sequences, seemingly unbothered about the chilliness of the early afternoon. After he sees them pausing for breath for the first time, however, he immediately perks up, his tail wagging back and forth in excitement.

Then he charges like a bull down the few stairs and immediately jumps against Keith’s chest with his entire weight.

“Careful,” Shiro warns, alarmed, but Keith has already fallen to the ground onto her back with the wolf-dog’s massive body on top of her.

Shiro rushes towards to help but then she hears it. The quiet, melodic laugh of pure joy.

She has heard Keith laugh before even if it’s seldom that Keith forgets her melancholy enough to truly express happiness when she feels it. Perhaps it’s the nature of selkies to feel sorrow so keenly that it washes over happiness in a distinguishing wave. Keith has preferred to keep her misery to herself, but even so-- the energy of it is very suffocating to Shiro as well.

Yet, now. Shiro can feel the nuances of Keith’s true bliss bleeding through the cracks of her intimidating and goal-focused demeanour and seeing something like this-- it’s quite heartbreaking as well as incredible. Shiro smiles, amused.

“Need a hand?” she asks as the wolf-dog’s enthusiasm grows even further, his excited yipping and barking echoing in the intensifying wind.

“No,” Keith says and skillfully dodges his attempts at licking her face, before finally getting the chance to sit up, gently shoving the giant wolf-dog off of her. She beams at him as he goes for a final lick and afterwards she pets his fluffy neck with great care, something like genuine fondness in her eyes.

It makes Shiro feel... odd. Like she’s simultaneously happy and sad at the same time.

She doesn’t like to linger on these feelings too long.

They’re too dangerous.

“Are you going to name him?” she asks as Keith finally stands up and cleans her dirty hands on her fabric-covered thighs, her cheeks white and nose flushed. Cute.

“Why do I have to name him?” she frowns as if she truly doesn’t understand what’s the point in it. She looks at the wolf-dog, whose tongue is currently lolling out of his mouth, confused.

Shiro shrugs and hides her bare hands under her armpits to keep them warm. “Humans usually name their pets. It makes us happy, I guess.”

“I see,” Keith says finally after a moment of thinking. Her frown deepens as she studies the wolf-dog with a keen eye as if considering her options carefully. 

“I will call him ‘dog’,” she decides.

Shiro chuckles. She can’t quite help the gentle tone it takes. “That’s not a name,” she says patiently but trying not to sound like she's speaking to a child.

Keith definitely isn't. They haven't talked about it but she's probably around early twenties, face youthful but serious from experiences Shiro could only have nightmares about.

“But… it is what he is,” Keith says appearing thoroughly confused now.

“Sure. But we usually give them names like… Max or Buddy or something along those lines,” Shiro explains and bends down to scratch the wolf-dog’s large snout with her knuckles. He closes his eyes, tail slowly swaying between his legs as Shiro takes her time showering him with affection. 

“Look at you, you’re such a good boy. You deserve a nice name," she coos before taking a stick lying on the ground and tosses it in a big arc across the yard, all the way behind the shed. The wolf-dog is already moving by the time it lands, his huge paws carving the soil out from under the grass.

Shiro beams at the sight of him running back to her with the piece of wood sticking from the corner of his mouth.

When she turns around to face Keith, she sees Keith is already looking at her with an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes are almost glimmering and a beginning of a demure smile tugs the corner of her faintly pink lips as she watches them.

Then Shiro blinks and in that time it quickly changes back to cool and neutral and Shiro isn’t sure whether she imagined the whole thing.

“We are not going to call him a ‘buddy’,” Keith says then, seemingly offended by the very idea of calling him such.

Shiro is not sure why the _we_ in the sentence, makes her over-enthusiastic heart squeal inside her chest. She almost visibly winces at herself. So, so stupid. One would think she has already learned better.

Keith rolls her eyes and Shiro raises her brow and waits.

And waits a little more.

“We will let him tell us his own name,” Keith declares after minutes of silence spent watching the wolf-dog with crooked, intense eyes full of determination like this is the most important decision of her life.

Shiro tries to cough into her fist as discreetly as possible, but her voice still has a lingering hue of amusement. "That's not really..."

Keith’s answering scowl is terrifying.

“Okay, fine,” Shiro says with a sigh and this time very likely fails at hiding her grin. “But I don’t think he’s actually going to--”

Keith brings a forefinger to her mouth and actually _hushes_ her. It's possibly the most human-like gesture Shiro has ever seen her do. She’s not sure why that makes her laugh so freely.

The firmness of Keith's scowl vanishes into something more like a stern half-smile, the corners of her lips twitching as their eyes meet each other. Keith's eyes are soulful and deep like a calmed sea after a heavy storm.

It takes Shiro's breath away.

Eventually Shiro clears her strangled throat and looks away, the feelings running through her too raw and real to give too much leeway. Hope is one of the most dangerous feelings in the world for Shiro-- it's mostly something she has given up already after so many failures of a chance at happiness.

Shiro bends down and picks up the idle sword again and hands it over to Keith who takes it already with remarkable confidence.

"You've got a decent form for a beginner," she ends up saying awkwardly, feeling like a fool as soon as she opens her mouth.

"I assume that is a good thing," Keith answers, giving the sword a few graceful swings-- just like Shiro taught her. She's not smiling anymore, but her gentler demeanour has remained in place as she catches Shiro's eye again.

"A very good thing," Shiro assures her. She shortens the distance between them to adjust the position of Keith's body slightly, trying not to linger in her close presence for too long.

"With enough practice, you'll be perfect," she slips out without thinking and only realises her words when Keith raises an eyebrow.

"'Perfect'?"

Shiro flushes, face red like ripe cherries in the late summer. "Yeah," she finds herself saying despite her embarrassment. Something blooms deep inside her ribcage at the way Keith is looking at her at this minute.

"Perfect."

*

"I have noticed," Keith says sometime after dinner (a humble meal of salmon and potatoes with sour cream sauce and rye bread that Keith seemed to enjoy immensely), gaze unblinking and eerie, "that you are often in large pain."

It’s not… worry in her voice, Shiro tells herself. Not entirely, anyway. The enquiry sounds as calm as usual, the words merely an observation but Keith clearly expects Shiro to answer her not-quite-question.

For a moment Shiro is so taken back that she just bites her lower lip for a good amount of time, not having a clue how to answer. She doesn’t like to admit weakness and she certainly doesn’t want to bother Keith about these sorts of matters. It is what it is. It always has been. She can endure it.

“... Perhaps,” she ends up answering vaguely with a shrug of her shoulders, face just a little bit heated under Keith’s gentle scrutiny. Keith hums underneath her breath at the answer and tilts her head.

Keith is sitting on the floor next to the fireplace the wolf-dog’s giant, fluffy head is pillowed on Keith’s lap, her hands stroking through his fur with gentle hands, her fingers scratching the back of his ears every few moments. Her beautiful, black hair is still dripping wet from the hour-long bath she took, because she refused a towel when Shiro offered one. She doesn’t seem cold. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable, either. Just a little weary.

Looking at Keith like this, all Shiro can think about is that she looks absolutely stunning in the low light of the fire.

“Being constantly in pain… Does that not bother you? It must be very difficult,” she says with a small frown -- and again, Shiro only shrugs, ignoring the slight wince that threatens to break her expression at the movement. Keith only looks at her knowingly, clearly seeing through Shiro’s gesture despite the short amount of time they’ve known each other.

“It has hurt for a long time now,” Shiro offers as an explanation. She feels intensely awkward. No one usually asks her these kinds of questions. “And I’ve gotten used to it, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a ‘big deal’ and you should not have to be used to it,” Keith says, surprisingly fiercely -- her voice like a flash of thunder. Shiro blinks at the tone of her voice, not knowing what to think. 

“Is there nothing that comforts your pain?”

The question is so gentle, it makes Shiro ache from all over from her heart to her toes, her whole body warming in pleasure at the gaze on Keith’s eyes.

 _Being with you,_ Shiro thinks. _Seeing you, talking with you, starting to become friends with you. It has helped me more than you can imagine._

Because this is fact: loneliness is a stubborn bitch that can swallow one quickly, spitting only despair in its place.

Keith changed that. One morning while fishing Shiro found a half-drown selkie by the beach and took her home, gave her shelter and food and absolutely nothing has been the same since.

But eventually, of course, Keith will leave and return home and that will be the end of it all. Shiro will be alone again. And she knows-- she knows it will hurt like hell when the time comes and she’s left at the mercy of loneliness again.

“It helps to-- to have company and not to be alone so much. I like having you here,” Shiro ends up saying, the honesty of the words making her cough awkwardly. She sort of wishes the earth would swallow her whole. Too much, too soon. Christ, but the stupidity will someday be the death of her.

There’s a surprised look that flashes in Keith’s lavender eyes before she smiles very softly, very beautifully. She seems quietly pleased and keeps their gazes locked for a long time afterwards, making Shiro’s heart thump inside her throat like a tambourine.

Eventually Keith looks away and Shiro can’t be certain whether she only imagines the slight flush in Keith’s pale cheeks.

Then: "I am pleased you think that," Keith murmurs very quietly and Shiro thinks:  
_I'm so lucky to have found you,_ but has no way of saying that aloud.

*

Shiro is, admittedly, not particularly surprised that Matt returns to the cabin only a few days later after his last visit. To be honest, she even expected it to happen eventually as Matt is never known to leave a mystery be. She just didn't think it would be… so soon.

But there he is, hiking up the slope with a grin on his face, one hand raised into a lazy wave.

"Great…" Shiro mutters under her breath which is, perhaps, a little unkind way to react when an old friend drops by for a visit. But then again, nothing is quite the same as it was a few months ago.

"Greetings, dear Takashi," Matt yells against the growing wind, his lanky frame almost crumbling in the force of the growing would-be storm. But he was always a stubborn one so he persists and soon enough he's sitting on a weather abused porch stairs and turns his playful eyes on Shiro.

"Hello Matt," Shiro allows him but her brows are pinched together in vague irritation. She loves Matt, wholly like a brother and a family member, but she really isn't in the mood for a chat or invasive questions right now.

Keith and the wolf are inside at least. Shiro hopes it stays that way as the thought of Matt flirting with Keith in front of her today is too much for her at the moment. She is not having a particularly good day today as the weather's too foul for fishing and firewood is starting to run low which is why she's risking getting sick outside the cabin in the first place.

Not to mention the blasted arm that doesn't like the coldness of becoming winter or extra chores at all.

Keith, at least, is proving to be quite a distraction and Shiro isn't sure whether it's a good or bad thing.

"What are you doing here?" she asks before continuing her earlier task of chopping firewood with careful, precise movements.

Matt scoffs and does a shooing motion with his hand. "Am I not allowed to visit my friends these days?"

"See, normally I would agree with you," Shiro says and makes a conscious effort not to sigh, "but you were literally here a couple days ago."

Matt shrugs as if nonchalant. His brown parka coat is wide open revealing the yellow t-shirt underneath, but somehow he's not even shivering in the wind but that might be due to the sheer stubbornness of his vanity. Shiro doesn't miss the way he’s eyeing the two swords still propped against the fence. Damn.

For a moment there's a blessed quiet before Matt opens his blasted mouth again. "So… where's your pretty friend?"

Shiro stiffens even though she knows Matt is looking at her reactions carefully. He always was so curious, far too curious for his own good. And Shiro does care about him. A lot. She doesn’t want him to get involved in all of this.

"Inside," she says, avoiding Matt's eyes by wiping her sweaty face on her scarf. "As well as Buddy."

Matt snorts so hard it makes Shiro flinch. He digs his boots into the frozen ground, kicking a stone out of his way before peering at Shiro again. "Buddy? Is that what you're calling the damned beast?"

Shiro flushes and picks up a new block of wood from the ground. The wind is starting to howl even louder minute by minute. Soon it will be a full-blown storm. "It's a work in progress. Keith doesn't like it either."

"Well, it _is_ a lousy name. And doesn't really fit his whole aesthetic as a blood-hungry wolf."

Shiro rolls his eyes. "He's not a --" Shiro starts and then stops. Counts to five in effort of not losing her patience."Anyway, you didn't say what you came all the way here for?"

"True, I didn't," Matt answers and after a pause finally _(finally)_ gets to the point. "Ingrid sent me."

Shiro swallows hard, her gaze immediately flickering towards the hut's front window where she can see Keith browsing through one of Shiro's books lazily while munching through a green raw apple. An immediate fondness fills Shiro's heart.

She will protect Keith, no matter what. This she has promised herself and she has no intentions of ever breaking it -- no matter the consequences. 

These words are a bit too harsh: "What does she want?"

Shiro doesn't dare to look at Matt so she quite pointedly keeps her head down and slices through the piece of wood with her axe. Her flesh arm flexes from the effort and the other one hurts as hell, but she hides her wince by wiping her hand across her face.

After all, it's nothing new.

"Woah, so hostile," Matt comments, looking a little alarmed at the odd change in Shiro’s behaviour. Shiro rolls her shoulders and tries to appear a calm and functional adult-like she’s supposed to be. 

"Calm down, it’s nothing bad,” Matt says. “She just wanted to make sure you -- and Keith -- would take part in the Winter Dance this year."

Shiro scowls and tosses her axe in a large curve with so much force behind it that it flies just above Matt’s head and lands on the front door of the cottage. Matt just raises his eyebrow at her, not having even flinched at Shiro’s outburst and Shiro lets out a fatigued laugh and drops down at the porch stairs right beside him.

Her feelings are mangled inside her throat, blocking her senses and feelings and god -- god, she’s made so many mistakes in her life, but she will not let them have Keith.

"Sorry," Shiro only manages to offer one word as an apology. Losing control like that has always been beneath her, she's calm even under fire, but something about this situation rubs her off the wrong way.

“You’re the most terrifying person I’ve ever met,” Matt says almost conversationally, after a while of silence apparently not quite knowing what to say. His voice is a little muffled by the sound of Shiro’s panicked heartbeat throbbing in her ears. 

Fuck, she thinks. Fuck fuck fuck.

They’re quiet.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks. Shiro has never heard so much worry in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Shiro answers softly and punches Matt’s shoulder gently. She has no idea what to do, she has no idea what to say. She thinks about Keith inside the house eating a raw apple and her entire being _aches_.

“I didn’t know Ingrid knows about Keith,” Matt says and digs out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and slips one of them between his lips. Matt doesn’t usually smoke. Shiro has seen him do it only a handful of times. This doesn’t bode well.

“They’ve, uh…. met,” she says carefully, pondering hard on her words and what is safe to reveal. She’s not sure why Ingrid has sent Matt as her messenger and she’s certainly not sure what to think about the message itself.

So, Shiro only watches as Matt procures a box of matches somewhere under the crotch area of his jeans. Shiro blinks a few times but decides to ignore it for the time being.

“Why does she want us to come to the Winter Dance? I didn’t even know they even organise it anymore,” she lies.

“Liar,” Matt says immediately and points an accusing finger to Shiro’s face “You specifically politely decline every year by sending a letter to whoever is on charge of it that time.”

Matt finally lights up his cigarette after a few failed times.

Shiro sighs, leaning her elbows against her knees. “I just don’t enjoy the business of dancing very much,” she admits and it’s completely true. Winter Dance is one of the worst impossible nightmares for her-- the couple times she did take part were quite a disaster, though it wasn’t completely on her to be fair.

She had no way of knowing that 78-year-old elder Martha had a huge crush on her and would try to tongue kiss her in front of everyone in the village.

Shiro winces. Her knees keep bouncing up and down for how nervous she’s becoming. “And I’m not sure why Ingrid thinks this year would be any different.”

“Because of Keith, of course,” Matt answers and takes a small drag of his cigarette before coughing so hard Shiro is slightly afraid he’s going to spit out a lung. “I guess she thinks you’re seeing each other or whatever, you know.”

Matt looks at her pointedly, clearly expecting her to deny (or admit) it, but the dread filling Shiro’s stomach is too strong for her to be embarrassed about his comment. This is not a good sign. Ingrid is planning something and Shiro has to find out what.

She made a promise for herself and she refuses to break it. Another thing she is going to have to do is tell Keith about Ingrid’s note, it was quite wrong to hide it in the first place. All Shiro wants is for Keith to be _safe_. She's just not sure how to keep doing it without messing things up.

“I’ll need to think about it,” Shiro says very slowly and carefully.

"I mean it's not for a few weeks at least," Matt points out with a small smile. "You have plenty of time to think it through. But personally, I hope you'll come. Maybe I can even persuade Keith to dance with me a little bit."

Shiro says nothing, only reaches out and the cigarette from Matt’s mouth and takes a long drag from it, the ugly smoke filling her lungs and making her want to puke. She keeps doing it though if only to have something to soothe her mind with.

Matt raises his eyebrow but doesn't tease her after that.

*

“Keith?”

Shiro closes the front door and pushes off her boots and hangs her coat before going to the kitchen where Keith is still sitting on the table, munching on another apple and flipping through one of Shiro's books, seemingly not even trying to read a word of it.

The wolf is lying beneath her dangling feet, wuffing softly in his sleep.

"Hey," Shiro says quietly and Keith offers her a small nod in return. 

Shiro takes off her damned painful prosthesis and puts it on the kitchen counter, massaging the aching stump with her palm before sitting on a chair next to Keith.

"I need to talk to you," she starts at the same time as Keith says: "You have news for me."

For a while both of them stare at each other before Shiro nods hesitantly.

"Tell me, please," Keith says and puts away her book (The Wuthering Heights, Shiro sees from the cover and smiles), and folds her webbed fingers together in expectation. The excitement of her expression bleeds through and Shiro is quite certain she has never felt this guilty in her life.

"Do you remember the woman we visited at the village? Ingrid?"

There's something anxious in Keith's gaze but she nods quickly enough. Shiro squirms. God, how she hopes she wouldn’t need to say anything about this; god, how she wishes would have told Keith earlier.

"Yes, the woman who seemed to be afraid of me,” Keith answers. Shiro squirms as her eyes shift and her lips purse together.

"Okay, good," Shiro says and tousles her white bangs with shaking fingers. Get it together, Shirogane. "When my friend Matt came by to see us a few days ago, he gave me a letter from Ingrid."

Something sombre emerges in Keith's beautiful eyes but she only nods again. "Continue," she says but now it sounds more like a demand than a request. Her face is like a new moon -- it reveals nothing. Not for the first time, Shiro feels like Keith can read every thought in her mind and doesn’t like what she sees.

"It was… It said that -- do you know how to read?”

A shake of her head. A stupid question, of course, Keith doesn’t know how to read and it was a desperate sort of escape Shiro had in mind, anyway.

“Okay, that’s okay, don’t worry about it -- I’ll read it to you then,” Shiro says and rises up to retrieve the envelope where she hid it in the kitchen drawer, behind the orange enamel box Shiro keeps her expensive teas in.

Keith listens patiently as Shiro reads through the letter and her expression doesn’t really change when Shiro stops and hesitantly meets her face again. And Keith is smiling. She’s actually smiling -- a gentle shy thing that breaks her earlier expression like a blade not meant for killing.

“You are worried for me?” she asks softly, voice barely loud enough to be heard with how bashful it is. She sounds thoroughly surprised and that kind of breaks Shiro's heart.

“Of course I am,” Shiro answers genuinely. A little knot has formed between her eyebrows as she looks at Keith whose lips are still formed in a slight beam. “I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to be afraid."

Keith hums underneath her breath and slips off the table as gracefully as she always is and takes the walks the small distance between them to step into Shiro's space.

Shiro holds her breath, her heart wild like a tambourine as Keith leans closer and closer and finally -- presses her cool, salt-flaky lips on the highest point of Shiro's cheek. The touch of her mouth lingers only for a few seconds before Keith pulls away and smiles again when Shiro brings her palm to her cheek wide-eyed and blushing feverishly hot.

"I am not afraid," Keith murmurs then, fond and truthful, "because you are with me and I trust you above anyone else, Takashi Shirogane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what period of time this fic takes place in: I have no idea either. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm sorry for any remaining typos/grammar weirdness in this chapter, admittedly got a little impatient at the editing phase and just wanted to post this stupid thing after so long! Thank you for reading, feel free to leave kudos/feedback if you want. (｡♥‿♥｡)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! ♥
> 
> [my twitter.](https://twitter.com/vilnakristiina)


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